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THE LITTLE COUNTESS 


BY 

E. VON DINCKLAGE, 


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By S. E. BOGGS. 


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THE CHILD OF THE PARISH. 


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THE 

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CHILD OF THE PARISH. 

r 

# 

21 NotJcl. 



MARIE von EBN ER-ESCHENBAGH. 

s 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER'S SONS, 


PUBLISHERS. 


THE CHOIEE SERIES : ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM, NO. SI, 
march 16, ie9S. ENTERED AT TH£ NEW YORK, N, Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER, 




COPTRIGHT, 1893, 

By ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


{AU rights reserved.) 



THE CHILD OF THE PARISH 


CHAPTER I. 

THE father’s crime. 

N October, i860, in B , a provincial 

capital of Moravia, the trial of Martin 
Holub, brickmaker, and Barbara, his 
wife, was brought to a close. 

Towards the end of June of the 
same year, these people, with two 
children, a boy of thirteen and a girl 
of ten, had come to the village of 
Kunovic* from their home in Soles- 
chau,t another village at the foot of the Hrad, one 
of the heights of the Mars-range. On the day of 

* Pronounce Kounovich. 
t Pronounce the “au ” like “ow " in “how.” 

\ 7 ] 



8 


The Child of the Parish. 


their arrival, the man had entered into a contract with 
the steward of the manor, had assigned to his wife 
and son, as well as to several workmen whom he 
had hired, their respective tasks, and had then 
repaired to the village-tavern for a drink. This 
arrangement was kept up during the three months 
which the family spent in Kunovic. The woman, 
and Pavel,* the boy, worked ; the man was either 
drunk or on the way to become so. Sometimes he 
woula come staggering to their common dormitory, 
under the roof of the brick-shed, and the next day 
the family would appear at the brickyard limping, 
and black and blue all over. The workmen, who 
were not willing to submit, as was expected of them, 
to the family-discipline of the brickmaker, were 
replaced by others, who also disappeared very 
shortly. 

At last only the woman and the children were to 
be met with at the place of work. The former was 
tall, strongly built, with evident traces of former 
beauty in her sunburnt face; the boy. clumsy and 
short-necked, resembled nothing more than an 
unlicked cub. The girl was called Milada, and was 
a delicate little creature, with slender limbs, from 
whose light-blue eyes there flashed more life and 
intelligence than from the dark ^nes of Barbara and 
* Pronounce PahvelT ^ 


The Father s Crime, 


9 


Pavel together. The little one exercised a sort of 
control over the other two, and at the same time 
made herself useful to them by various little acts of 
help. Without the child, no words would ever have 
been exchanged at the brickyard. Mother and son 
worked unceasingly from dawn till dark, gloomy 
and silent. 

This went on for a long time, and, to the indigna- 
tion of the pious in the village, no rest was taken 
even on Sundays and holidays. This wrong-doing 
was reported to the curate, who protested against 
it, but without result. In consequence, the rever- 
end gentleman, on the afternoon of the festival of 
the Ascension of the Virgin, repaired to the brick- 
yard in person, and commanded the woman Holub 
to cease at once the occupation by which she was 
desecrating the holiday. Unfortunately, however, 
Martin, who happened to be in the shed sleeping 
off the effects of his last drunken spell, awoke at the 
wrong moment, rose, and approached the group. 
He had no sooner observed that Pavel, with evi- 
dent approval, was listening to the clerical admoni- 
tion with open mouth and arms hanging by his side, 
than he fell upon him from behind. The curate did 
not delay to hasten to the assistance of the boy, and 
rescued him, indeed, from his father’s blows, but, by 
so doing, attracted the wrath of the latter towards 


lO 


The Child of the Parish. 


himself. Before all the witnesses whom Holub’s 
vociferations had drawn to the spot, and who 
increased in number with every minute, the furious 
fellow overwhelmed the curate with a torrent of 
vile abuse, suddenly sprang close up to him, and 
shook his first in his face. The reverend gentleman 
did not lose countenance for one moment, but turned 
away in disgust, and, with a cane in his right hand, 
which he had raised in self-defense at the drunkard’s 
approach, gave him a slight blow on the head. 
Martin uttered a howl, threw himself on the ground, 
writhed like a worm, and roared out that he was 
killed, that His Reverence had murdered him. At 
first he was answered by a general laugh of derision, 
but his cause was too bad a one not to find at least 
a few defenders. Among the crowd which curios- 
ity had drawn around the man as he lay on the 
ground, a few voices were raised in his favor, met 
with contradiction, and retaliated in a manner 
which soon called forth personal violence. The 
curate’s authority was just sufficient to compel the 
brawlers to clear the field. They went to the tavern 
in a body, there to drink the health of His Rever- 
ence’s victim, and continued to do so until a posse 
of young peasants tried to put a stop to the dis- 
orderly doings of the vagabonds. This resulted in 
a general fight, such as had not taken place in 


TJie Father s Crime, 


1 1 


Kunovic since the last grand wedding. The local 
police gave the storm full liberty to spend itself, 
and, in reward of this shrewdness mingled with 
caution, had the whole village on their side the 
next morning. The common opinion was that, in 
the whole affair, there was but one guilty person — 
the brickmaker, — and that he should be gotten rid of 
as soon as possible. The steward of the manor was 
glad to annul the contract which Martin could not 
at any rate have fulfilled ; for, however diligent his 
wife and son might be, they could not do more than 
was possible. Holub was paid off and discharged. 
Of the money which was due him, over and above 
the amounts which he had drawn in advance, he 
was not allowed to keep a kreutzer ; the host at the 
tavern laid claim to it all. 

After a vain attempt to recover what he consid- 
ered his rights, there was nothing left to the fellow 
but to go his way. The departure of the brick- 
makers took place. First in line walked the head 
of the family, in tight duck trousers, fringed out at 
the bottom, and a torn jacket of blue Canton flannel. 
His hat, full of holes, was set on one side of his head ; 
his red, drunken face was bloated, and his lips were 
uttering curses against the priest and his followers, 
who had deprived him of his honest livelihood. 

A few steps behind him came his wife. Her fore- 


The Child of the Parish. 


I 2 


head was bandaged, and she seemed hardly able to 
drag herself along, but still was drawing a small 
wagon which contained some tools and household 
utensils, as well as Milada, wrapped in a blanket. 
Was she sick? Black and blue? It was easy to 
conjecture the latter, for j^ust before their depart- 
ure Martin had been in a towering passion 
with his family. Pavel closed the procession ; with 
both arms pressed against the back of the wagon, 
he pushed it on vigorously, helping along with his 
head whenever they encountered people who either 
sent after the emigrants a look of pity, or gave 
Holub’s wild invectives back in kind. 

A few days later, on a stormy, gray September 
morning, the sexton, as he passed the door of the 
sacristy on his way to the parsonage, to get the 
keys, noticed that it stood ajar. Much astonished, 
and not knowing, at first, what to think of this, he 
entered the sacristy and saw the presses open, and 
the vestments lying about the floor and divested of 
their gold trimmings. He put his hands to his head, 
went on into the church, and there found the taber- 
nacle broken open, and empty. He was seized 
with a fit of trembling. “ Thieves !” he gasped, 
“Thieves!” while he felt as if someone had seized 
him by the nape of the neck, and hardly knew how 
he got out of the church and to the parsonage. 


1 he Father s Crime. 


The curate was not in the habit of locking his 
door. “ Who would want to take anything from 
me ?” he used to say ; and thus the sacristan had 
only to press the latch. He did so. Oh, horror! 
In the hall, on the floor, lay the curate’s old servant, 
at full length, unconscious, covered with blood. As 
the cold air from the open door blew upon her, she 
moved, stared at the sexton, and with a faint, but 
horribly expressive gesture, pointed to her master’s 
room. 

The sacristan, almost insane with terror, took a 
few steps, looked, uttered a groan, and fell on his 
knees for horror at the sight which met his eyes. 

Fifteen minutes later the whole village knew that 
His Reverence had been attacked during the night 
and murdered, evidently in a struggle for the keys 
of the church ; a violent struggle, as everything 
indicated. 

There could be no doubt with regard to the per- 
petrator of the horrible deed. Even if the old ser- 
vant had not testified to that effect, every one would 
have known that it was Martin Holub. He was 
first sought for in Soleschau. He had been there a 
short time before, had put his children to board 
with the parish-herdsman, and had gone away again 
with his wife. 

Hardly a week had passed before the couple were 


H 


The Child of the Parish. 


discovered in a thieves’ den on the frontier, just as 
Holub was in the act of bargaining with a pedlar 
about a fragment of the pyx from the church of 
Kunovic, which he had broken in pieces. The tramp 
was arrested only after violent resistance; his wife 
submitted to her fate with stolid indifference. Ere 
long, the two were arraigned before the court 
in B . 

The trial, which met with no interruption, pro- 
gressed rapidly. From the beginning, Holub 
declared that it was not he, but his wife, who had 
devised and executed the crime, and often as the 
improbability of this declaration was demonstrated 
to him, he still came back to it again and again. At 
the same time he entangled himself more and more 
in his own coarsely-spun net of lies, and afforded 
the repulsive spectacle, witnessed very frequently, 
of a hardened reprobate who becomes his own 
accuser by trying to defend himself. 

The demeanor of the woman, on the other hand, 
was very singular. 

The uniformity of her answers reminded one of 
the celebrated : Non miricordod" they were invariably 
“ Just as my man says. Just what my man says.” 

In his presence she stood motionless, hardly 
breathing, cold perspiration on her forehead, her 
* “ I do not remember." 


The Father s Crime 


15 


e3’^es fixed on him with a questioning expression of 
mortal terror. If he was not in the hall, and thus 
out of her sight, she still seemed to think that he 
was near ; her cowed look would wander search- 
ingly about, and suddenly fix itself, with a horrible 
stare, on vacancy. The opening of a door, the 
slightest noise, would cause her to tremble and 
quake, and with a shudder, she would repeat her 
words : “ Just as my man says. Just what my man 
says.” It was in vain that she was told : ** You are 
signing your death-warrant;” it made no impression 
upon her, did not appall her. She feared neither 
the judges nor death, she feared only “ her man.” 

And it was on the strength of this fear, bordering 
on insanity, of her lord and tormentor, that her 
counsel, in a brilliant speech, demanded, in view of 
his client’s evident irresponsibility, that she be 
acquitted. An acquittal, however, was impossible, 
but the penalty inflicted upon her as the accessory 
to a heavy crime, was comparatively light. The 
sentence was : Death by hanging for the man, 

ten years in the penitentiary for the woman.” 

Barbara entered upon her punishment at once. 
Martin Holub’s sentence was executed after an 
interval of time determined by the court. 



CHAPTER 11. 

THE children’s FRIENDS. 

For the authorities of the parish of Soleschau the 
question now arose : What was to be done with 
the children of the criminals ? They had no rela- 
tions, who would have been in duty bound to take 
care of them, and no one was likely to volunteer 
to do so. 

In his perplexity, the burgomaster, with Pavel 
and Milada, repaired to the castle, and requested an 
audience of the lady of the manor. 

As soon as the old lady was informed of the 
object of his visit, she came hurr 3 dng into the court 
as fast as her legs, one of which was perceptibly 
shorter than the other, would admit of. With 
her sharply-cut face stretched forward, spectacles 
on her aquiline nose, and her elbows, pushed far 
back, she limped towards the group which awaited 
her at the gate. The burgomaster, a fine-looking 
man in the prime of life, took off his hat and made a 
low bow. 

ri61 



M FLADA 











The Childre7is Friends, 


17 


“ What do you want?” said the old lady, screwing 
up her dim eyes at him. “ I know what you want; 
but that’s out of the question ! 1 can’t have any- 

thing to do with the children of those vagabonds 
that murdered our good curate. Why, there’s the 
boy. How he looks ! I know him, he stole some 
of my cherries. Didn’t you ?” she added, address- 
ing Pavel, who turned mahogany-color, and began 
to squint from embarrassment. 

“ Why don’t you answer? Why don’t you take 
off your cap ?” 

“ Because he hasn’t got any,” said the burgo- 
master in excuse. 

“ Indeed ! What is that on his head, then?” 

“ Tangled hair, your Grace.” 

A merry laugh was heard, but ceased at once, as 
the old lady raised her thin forefinger threateningly 
at her who had uttered it. 

“ And that’s the girl ? Come here.” 

Milada approached her confidingly, and the look 
with which the lady of the manor examined the 
child’s smiling face, lost more and more of its 
severity. Her eye glanced over the little form and 
over the rags which barely covered it, and fixed 
itself upon the slender little feet, which were gray 
with dust. 


1 8 The Child of the Parish. 


One of the sudden changes of mood to which the 
old lady was subject, now took place. 

The girl, perhaps — ” she began again, “ I might 
relieve the parish of the girl. Although 1 really 
don’t know why I should do anything for the parish. 
1 do know, however, that the child would be ruined 
in your hands ; and what is the reason that the child 
would be ruined in your hands ?” 

The burgomaster was about to venture a modest 
reply. 

“ You had better not say anything,” the lady 
interrupted him. “ I know all about it. The chil- 
dren whose schooling is supposed to be paid by the 
parish, can’t tell A from Z when they are twelve 
years old.” 

She shook her head in displeasure, again looked 
down at Milada’s feet, and added : “ and the children 
whom the parish ought to supply with shoes, all run 
around barefoot. I know you all,” she continued, 
as the burgomaster once more tried to protest 
against her reproaches. “ 1 have long since given up 
all attempts at making any change in your mode of 
administration. Take the boy along with you, and 
have him cared for in your own way ; he deserves 
no better, I dare say, than to be a child of the parish. 
The girl can stay here.” 

The burgomaster obeyed her gesture of dismissal, 


TJie CJiildrens Friends. 


19 


delighted to have gotten rid of at least half of the 
new burden which had fallen upon his village. 
Pavel followed him to the end of the court. There 
he stopped and looked round after his sister. A 
maid had already appeared, to whom the old lady 
was giving directions with regard to Milada. 

“ Give her a bath,” she said, “ burn her rags, pick 
out some clothes from the Christmas supply.” 

“ Will she get anything to eat?” was the question 
that flashed through Pavel's mind. He was sure 
she was hungry. Since he could think, it had been 
his most important duty to protect the child from 
hunger. It was well to have clothes; bathing was 
not bad, either, particularly in numerous company, 
in the horsepond. How often had Pavel carried 
the little one to the water, and let her paddle in it 
with her hands and feet ! But the main thing, after 
all, was not to be hungry. 

“ Tell them you’re hungry !” the boy called out to 
his sister in admonition. 

“Why, there’s that boy still!” replied the echo 
which his words awakened, from the castle. 

The burgomasterp who was about to turn the cor- 
ner of the garden-fence, took Pavel by the collar, 
and drew him away with him. 

The consultations of the parish authorities on 
Pavel’s fate lasted three days. At last they con- 


20 


The Child of the Parish. 


ceived a good idea, and hastened to carry it out. 
A deputation repaired to the castle, and submitted 
to her Grace, the Baroness, the most respectful 
request, that, as she had already been so dobrotiva 
(extraordinarily kind) as to take charge of the 
daughter of the unhappy Holub, she would also 
interest herself in his son. 

The answer which the fathers of the village 
received was a hopelessly negative one, and the 
consultations recommenced. 

What was to be done ? 

“What is generally done in such cases,” was the 
burgomaster’s opinion ; “ the boy must go from 
house to house, and find board and lodging at a 
different house each day.” 

But all the peasants refused. Not one of them 
was willing to have the son of a murderer in the 
company of his own children, even for one day in 
every five or six weeks. 

At last it was decided that the boy should remain 
where he was, where his own parents had placed 
him ; in the care of that rascal, the parish-herdsmen. 

To be sure, if the parish had been able to afford 
the luxury of a conscience, the latter would have 
protested against this expedient. The herdsman 
(he bore the classic name of Virgil) and his wife, 
together with the cottagers witli whom they lodged, 


The Children s Friends, 


21 


were amon^ the most disreputable of the inhabitants 
of the village. He was a confirmed drunkard ; she, 
treacherous and malicious, had repeatedly been 
before the courts for secret quackery, without allow- 
ing herself to be deterred thereby from continuing 
to practice her obscure profession. 

No one would have thought of giving any other 
child in charge of these people ; but there was no 
reason to fear that Pavel would see anything bad 
while with them that he had not seen a hundred 
times at home. 

So the parish swallowed the bitter pill, and 
allowed four pecks of grain per annum for Pavel’s 
support. The herdsman was given the right to 
make use of him in driving the cattle to pasture 
and watching them, and promised to see that he 
went to church on Sundays, and to school as often 
as possible in winter. 

Virgil, with his family, occupied a small room in 
the last hovel but one of the village. It was six 
feet square, and had one window with four panes, 
each as large as half a brick, which was never 
opened, because the rotten frame would have fallen 
to pieces during the process. 

Under the window stood a bench, on which the 
herdsman slept at night. Opposite the bench there 
was a bedstead filled with straw, which was occu- 


22 


The Child of the Parish. 


pied by the wife and daughter. The entrance to 
the room was through a narrow hallway, at the end 
of which the hearth was located. The latter was 
intended to serve for a stove as well, but was rarely 
used for either purpose, because occasions for steal- 
ing wood became less and less frequent. So that 
corner was made a storeroom for the scant supplies 
of grain and bread, for Virgil’s boots, which were 
never cleaned, his whip, his knotty stick, for a dirt- 
colored confusion of old bottles, baskets minus 
handles, pots, and broken pottery, worthy of the 
brush of a realistic painter. 

Among all this rubbish Pavel had arranged a lair 
for Milada, where she slept, rolled up like a kitten. 
He would stretch himself upon the floor, close by 
the hearth, and when the little one awoke during 
the night, she would put out her hands to feel for 
him, pull his hair, and asked : “ Are you there, 

Pavlicek.”* 

He would growl : “ Pm here, go to sleep,” and, per- 
haps, would bite her finger in fun, and she would give 
a little scream in fun, and Virgil would curse and 
swear at them from the room : Be quiet, you 
robber-brats, you gallows-birds !” 

Milada would tremble and be silent, and Pavel 


* Pronounce Pavlicheck. 


The Children s Friends. 


23 


would rise to his knees inaudibly, and whisper to 
her softly and stroke her until she went to sleep 
again. 

The first time that he went to rest without his 
sister, he thought : “ To-night I’ll sleep finely, that 
brat won’t be there to wake me up.” But at day- 
break he was already in the village street, and took 
the direct way to the castle. The latter stood in the 
midst of a garden, which was surrounded by a wire 
fence ; a thick border of evergreens around the 
entire inclosure shut off any view of the sanctuary 
from the outside. Pavel stationed himself by the 
gate, which was directly opposite the house, pressed 
his face against the iron bars, and waited. For a 
long time all remained quiet ; suddenly, however, 
Pavel thought he heard the opening and closing of 
windows and doors, and confused loud talking ; it 
even seemed to him as if he recognized Milada’s 
voice. At the same time a violent gust of wind 
arose, shook the dead branches from the trees, and 
chased the dead leaves through the air in a rustling 
dance. Two maids came running from the servants’ 
quarters towards the house ; one of them nearly 
stumbled over the old peacock, who was strutting 
to and fro in the court. He gave so comical a 
jump to one side, that Pavel had to laugh aloud. 
There was now more life in the castle and its sur- 


24 


The Child of the Parish. 


roundings ; people even came to the garden-gate ; 
but those who came in by it or went out of it, 
locked it carefully behind them. This was an 
arrangement the novelty of which struck many 
a passer-by. Fastening the garden-gate in broad 
daylight! What did that mean ? Such an inconven- 
ient arrangement was not likely to be kept up long. 

But it was kept up, to the general astonishment 
of the villagers, who disapproved of it decidedly, 
and, after a while, the reason for it was made known 
to them. 

Pavel was told of it by Vinska, the ugly shep- 
herd’s handsome daughter, as follows : 

“ Here, you scamp, your sister’s just as bad as 
you are. Petruschka, the kitchen-maid from the 
castle, says her Grace treats your sister like her own 
child, and Milada is always trying to run away. 
That’s the reason they lock up the castle now like a 
money-box. If I were the Baroness, I wouldn’t do 
that, but I know what I would do — they hung your 
father up by the neck, and I should tie your sister’s 
hands and feet together and hang her up against 
the wall.” 

This picture remained before Pavel’s eyes all 
day long, and during the night it blended with 
another one, which he remembered from his child- 
hood. 


The Children s Friends. 


25 


At that time he had, on one occasion, seen the 
game-keeper carrying home a very young fawn, 
which he had caught in the forest. Its legs were 
tied together with a rope, and the keeper carried it 
by a stick which was passed between them. Pavel 
remembered how it had bent its slender neck, 
pricked up its ears, and tried to raise its head ; he 
remembered the despair which had looked out of 
the delicate little creature’s eyes. 

In his dream he saw those eyes again, but they 
looked like Milada’s. 

Once he cried aloud: “Are you there raised 
himself while half-asleep, again cried : “ Are you 
there?” felt about with his hands, and in so doing, 
awoke fully. With the rapidity of lightning, with 
the force of the tempest, the desolate feeling of sepa- 
ration came over him, and prostrated him. The 
rough boy burst into tears, into passionate sobs, 
waked the herdsman’s family, waked the cottagers 
who slept on the other side of the hall, with his loud 
weeping. The whole company assembled, threat- 
ened him, and as he remained deaf to all admoni- 
tions, however emphatic they might be, united their 
forces to throw him out of the house. 

^That was a thorough cooling-off, even for the 
most burning sorrow ! For a while Pavel remained 
lying perfectly quiet and motionless upon the firmly 


26 


The Child of the Parish. 


frozen ground. The sensation, so entirely new and 
so horrible to him, of boundless longing, diminished 
by degrees, and another, which he well knew of old, 
took its place : defiance, cold, bitter hatred. 

“ Wait,” he said, “just wait; Fll show you !” 

The resolve to bring matters to an end was 
formed at once, the plan for its execution ripened 
but slowly in Pavel’s dull head. But after he had 
once overcome the great exertion of devising it, 
everything else seemed to the boy nothing but 
child’s play. He would penetrate into the castle, 
carry off his sister, go with her over the mountains 
into foreign countries, hire himself out as a laborer, 
and never again hear the reproach that he was the 
son of his parents. 

With the consciousness of a victor, Pavel arose 
from the ground, and making a large circuit, went 
around the village towards the castle. The watch- 
man’s whistle warned him amicably against the 
paths which he ought to avoid. The fields were 
covered with hard, deep snow, the earth was lighter 
than the sky, in which the pale crescent of the moon 
disappeared again and again behind drifting clouds. 
Pavel reached the garden-fence, climbed over it, and 
let himself down on the other side by the branches 
of the pines. There he was in the garden, and knew 
very well in which part of it ; that which was far- 


The Childre7is Friends. 


27 


thest removed from the village, the best which he 
could have chosen for his present purpose, as well as 
for his projected flight. Full of increasing con- 
fidence, he went on, straight forward all the time, 
and he would reach the castle. What was to be 
done then Pavel had not pictured to himself dis- 
tinctly ; he was going to deliver Milada, that was 
clear as day to him, and though all else might be 
doubt and perplexity, that idea illumined his soul, 
that thought he clung to. It did not trouble him 
that he began to feel wretchedly cold in his miser- 
able rags, that his limbs grew numb and stiff ; but 
it was bad that the darkness . grew thicker and 
thicker, and every few minutes Pavel ran against a 
tree and fell down. Even though, the first time, he 
jumped up again immediately, the second brought 
the temptation : “ Pll lie still a minute, and rest, and 
sleep.” Butin spite of this he arose with strong 
will-power, groped his way onward, and finally 
reached the goal at which he had aimed — the castle. 
His heart beat high as he touched the old weather- 
beaten wall. Who knows how near he may be to 
his sister; who knows whether she is not asleep in 
the room under the window of which he is standing, 
that window which he can reach with his hands — it 
might just as well be, why shouldn’t it? and gently, 
gently, he begins to knock. At that moment he 


28 


The Child of the Parish, 


hears a growl close to the ground, something comes 
creeping up on short legs, and before he can think, 
it has jumped upon him and is trying to seize him 
by the throat. Pavel suppresses a cry ; he chokes 
the cur with all his might. But the dog is stronger 
than he, and well versed in the art of dealing with 
an enemy. The howl which he uttered in so doing 
had the desired effect, it brought people to the spot. 
They arrived half asleep, and wholly frightened, 
but when they saw that they had only a boy to deal 
with, their courage rose. Pavel was surrounded 
and overpowered, although he raged and defended 
himself like a wild beast. 



CHAPTER III. 

A PAIR OF BOOTS. 

No one learned what Pavel had wanted in the 
castle, but the obstinacy with which he refused 
to give any information on the subject, proved 
plainly enough that he must have had the worst 
intentions. Probably burglary or incendiarism ; the 
fellow was capable of anything. Thus spake public 
opinion, and the parish having been invested with 
paternal rights towards the boy, decided that Pavel 
should meet with an exemplary flogging from the 
hands of schoolmaster Habrecht, in the presence of 
the whole school. 

The schoolmaster, a sickly, nervous man, was very 
loth to execute the judgment assigned to him. It 
was his opinion that a punishment thus dealt out 
before a youthful public, rarely benefits the one to 
whom it is applied, and always harms those who 
witness it. “Those beasts, by such a sight, become 
only worse beasts,” he remarked, far too coarsely 

[29] 



30 


The Child of the Parish. 


for a pedagogue. Although not fully convinced, 
the parish-fathers had repeatedly deferred to his 
objection, but this time it was of no avail. 

On the day appointed for the chastisement of the 
nocturnal intruder, the master received him from 
the hands of the beadles with a sigh, and taking him 
by the collar, led him to the door of the schoolroom. 
Here he stopped, raised the bowed head of the boy, 
and said : 

“ Look at me ; why do you always look on the 
floor, you bad boy ?” 

These words were not kind, and yet, why was it 
that they really did Pavel’s heart good, and that 
even the way in which the master pulled his hair 
had something in it which inspired confidence, and 
acted like a cordial ? 

“You’d better be afraid, you scamp, you repro- 
bate ! 3’^ou’d better be afraid !” Habrecht continued, 
rolling his eyes and waving his thin arm with a most 
significant gesture. And Pavel, out of whom, for 
the past three days, no one had been able to get a 
word, who during that time had looked nobody in 
the face, suddenly raised his eyes shyly to the mas- 
ter, and blinking, with a half smile, said : 

“ But Pm not afraid.” 

From the schoolroom there had at first come a 
humming, as from a beehive, then the humming 


A Pair of Boots. 


31 


ciianged to a confiisfed din, and now there was a fight 
going on for the best places fer the expected exhi- 
bition. The master angrily pi uttered something to 
himself, and shaking Fav^l dnce more, said : 

“If you are not afraid, then, you had better 
scream, scream as loud as you can 1” and with this 
he opened the door and>entered the schoolroom. 
The tumult suddenly ceased, only a/ few involun- 
tary exclamations of satisfied expectation were 
heard ; in the friendliest manner ro<kn was made on 
the benches for all ; the most touching harmony 
prevailed. The master placed Pavel beside his 
desk, and looked around for the rod. As for a 
while he either did not or did not appear to see 
it, a voice called out: “ It’s there by" the window, 
in the corner!” The voice came fromVone of the 
last rows, and belonged to Arndst^the son of the 
cottager of whom Virgil hired his lodging. Pavel 
clenched his fist at him, widt:li gave rise to a mur- 
mur of indignation. More than a hundred eyes 
were turned with an expression of malice and hatred 
upon the brown, ragged boy. He was boiling 
inwardly, and as clearly as it was possible for him 
to think, so clearly he thought : “ What have I 

done to you ? Why are you my enemies ?” 

Habrecht commanded the children to be silent, 
and made a speech, in which he prepared them for 


32 


The Child of the Parish. 


a remarkable disappointment. “ You are all full of 
pleasant anticipation. Why? What about? Will 
the flogging that is given to another do you any 
good ? Mark my words. It will htirt you ! Each 
one of you — his voice fell to a mysterious whisper, 
and he slowly stretched out his forefinger towards 
his audience : “ Each one of you, who sits there, 

ready to jump out of his skin with malicious pleas- 
ure, will soon want to jump out of it with pain. 
Each one who stares over here and looks on while 
I deal out my blows, will feel them too — feel them 
he repeated his gruesome prediction, which seemed 
to frighten even him. “ And now you will see 
what your master can do !” 

All the children shuddered at the thought of the 
miracle that was to be wrought on them, their timid 
eyes glanced only askance at the dreaded master, 
whose exterior, in its height and leanness, had some- 
thing ghost-like about it. The bo3'S stared at the 
floor, the girls covered their eyes with their aprons. 

The master, however, went to work quickl}^ 
With fabulous rapidity the rod was whirled around 
the head of the delinquent, and then dealt a number 
of blows which Pavel took for the introduction to 
the actual punishment. But instead of following up 
the latter, the master suddenly said : “ Dear me, 

my spectacles have fallen on the floor. Pick them 


A Pair of Boots. 


33 


up. You may thank me for your flogging after 
school.” 

Pavel stared at him in stupid astonishment, he 
was still waiting for the real thrashing, — and now 
he heard that he had received it, and was ordered 
to sit down — in the last seat of the last bench. 

The Master pulled out his handkerchief, wiped 
the perspiration from his forehead, slowly took a 
pinch of snuff, and opened school. 

Arnost, who was as red as a boiled lobster, 
whispered to his neighbor: “Did you look?” 
“Just a little,” was the answer. “Do you feel any- 
thing ?” “ I feel it in my back.” “ My ear burns.” 

An inquisitive little girl, whose eye had accidentally 
encountered a hole in her apron, which she made 
use of for peeping, confessed to some of her school- 
mates that she felt as if she were sitting on nothing 
but peas. 

After school, Pavel was going away with the rest, 
but the master called him back, looked at him 
awhile keenly, and finally asked him if he were not 
ashamed. 

Pavel in a low tone answered : “ No.” 

“ No ? Why no ? Have you bidden good-bye to 
shame ?” 

Pavel maintained the obstinate silence to which 
the master was accustomed in the most wretched 


34 


The Child of the Parish. 


and most irregular of his pupils. Until now he had 
taken no notice of him, but to-day, when he had 
received orders to punish him for an unknown 
offence, he had felt pity for him. He regretted this 
now, and went on, severely : 

“Grown up in shame — yes, grown up, nearlv 
fourteen — used to shame all3^our life, and you don’t 
even know how it feels !” 

Then Pavel said : “ I know,” and the boy’s mouth 
was distorted by a mature expression of suppressed 
bitterness. He had not understood what the master 
had meant by the blows which had hardly hurt him ; 
but now that he reproached him with the wretched- 
ness of his life, he understood him very well. 

“ I know,” he repeated, in a tone with the forced 
boldness of which there mingled, unconsciously, 
the pain of a deep disappointment. 

The master examined him attentively — the boy 
was the embodiment of misery! Not through the 
fault of Nature. She had favored him, and made 
him healthy, vigorous and strong ; that was shown 
by his broad chest, his red lips, his strong, yellowish 
teeth. But the friendly intentions of Nature had been 
frustrated by hajrd work, bad nourishment, neglect 
of every kind. As he stood there, with his tangled, 
bushy brown hair, which made his bent head seem 
disproportionately large ; with his sunken cheeks, 


A Pair of Boots. 


35 


and high cheek-bones ; his lean, sturdy figure clad in 
a coat, full of holes, of some thin summer stuff ; his 
feet wound round with rags, he offered a sight 
which was repugnant and at the same time inexpres- 
sibly sad, because he had evidently not entirely lost 
the consciousness of his wretched state. For a loiip; 
time the master did not speak, and Pavel, too, was 
silent, but he dropped his lower lip more and more 
sullenly and began to look surreptitiously towards 
the door, as one who was trying to snatch an oppor- 
tunity to run away. 

At last the master said, “ Don’t be so stupid. 
When you’re out of school, you ought to think, 

‘ How can I get in ?’ and not, when you’re in it, ‘ How 
can I get out ?’ ” 

Pavel was startled ; this was again quite incom- 
prehensible to him, and agreed with the opinion 
entertained far and wide, that the schoolmaster was 
able to read the thoughts of men. 

“ Go now,” said the other, “ and come back again 
to-morrow, and the day after, too ; and if you come 
steadily for a whole week, 1 will give you a pair of 
decent boots.” 

“ Boots? such as the peasant children wear? real 
boots with high tops ?” Incessantl}^ on his homeward 
wa}^ Pavel repeated to himself the words ‘‘real boots.” 
They sounded to him like a fairy tale; they made 


36 


The Child of the Parish. 


him forget that he had intended to give Arnost a 
thrashing . He was at the school the next morning 
before the door was opened, and during school- 
hours he exerted himself with burning zeal, and 
scorned the trouble which studying gave him. He 
also scorned the drastic admonitions of Virgil and 
his wife, who tried to force him to go to the factory 
to work, instead of going to school for pleasure. 
To be sure, this had to be done in secrecy ; they did 
not dare to use open forcible measures to detain the 
boy from school; that would have been too con- 
spicuously at variance with the agreement entered 
upon with the parish concerning him. 

The week passed, and on the afternoon of the last 
day Pavel came running home with a new boot in 
each hand. 

Vinska was at home alone when he arrived ; she 
observed him closely as he placed the shining pair 
in the corner by the hearth, and stationed himself 
at some distance from it, lost in silent admiration. 
His features, on which misery had set its stamp, 
where incapable of expressing joy, but they appeared 
more animated than usual, and a clumsy satisfaction 
was depicted upon them. 

Once he drew nearer, lifted up one of the boots, 
rubbed it with his sleeve, kissed it, and put it back 
in its place. * 


A Pair of Boots, 


37 


A loud laugh was heard ; Vinska came to the 
threshold of the room, learned her shoulder against 
the door-post (there was no door between the room 
and the hall), and asked : 

“ Where did you steal those boots, you rascal ?” 

He did not even look round at her, much less 
give her an answer. But Vinska repeated her ques- 
tion so often, that he at last snarled : 

Stolen ! exactly, stolen !” 

You donkey,” she muttered, “you see, you say so 
yourself, now.” 

Her covetous gra}^ eyes glanced alternately at the 
boots and at her own prettily-formed bare feet. 
Pavel hod crouched down on the floor beside his 
precious new property; it seemed to him as if he 
must defend it against an approaching danger, and 
he prepared himself to meet the latter. Vinska bent 
her head to one side, suddenly smiled at the boy, 
who looked up at her menacingly, and said in an 
insinuting voice: 

“ Come, tell me where you got them.” 

He did not know what was happening to him. 
That was the tone in which only a short time ago 
he had heard Vinska speak to Peter, who was her 
lover. Burning waves surged in his bosom ; he 
devoured his charming tormenter with his eyes, 
and thought that the feeling which had seized him 


38 The Child of the Parish, 

with such tremendous force, was the desire to fall 
upon her and give her a good thrashing. 

But at the same time he did not move, but merely 
opened his lips involuntarily, and said : 

“The schoolmaster gave them to me.’’ 

Vinska began to giggle. “Oh, Lord, he! If 
you got them from him, you’ve got nothing at all.” 

“ What — nothing?” 

“ No, nothing 1 When you wake up to-morrow 
morning the boots will be gone.” 

“ Gone? Nonsense !” 

“ Yes, indeed, anything that the schoolmaster 
gives, won’t keep even over night. You know he 
is a wizard.” 

Pavel grew angry. “ I know he is not a wizard.” 

The girl turned up her lip. “ Blockhead ! He 
was dead in his coffin for three days. Wasn’t he ? 
And doesn’t every child know that any one that’s 
been dead three days, has had a glimpse of hell, and 
learned some of the devil’s tricks from him ?” 

Pavel stared at her speechlessly ; a cold shudder 
ran down his back. Vinska yawned, pressed her 
cheek to the shoulder drawn up against the door- 
post, and after a while said carelessly, as if she were 
repeating a story which she had told a hundred 
times, and grown tired of : 

“ He gave a pair of shoes to old blind Marska, too, 


A Pah' of Boots. 


39 


who died in our house last year. She set them in 
front of her bed at night, and when she went to put 
her feet into then in the morning, she stepped, 
instead of into her new shoes, on a huge toad, as big 
as a plate.” 

Pavel cried out vehemently : “ That’s a lie !” 

He turned alternately hot and cold with anger and 
fear, and suddenly the tears gushed from his eyes. 

Vinska gave him a look full of disdain, and went 
back into the room. 

At night, Pavel tried his best to keep awake ; he 
wanted to guard his treasure ; he also repeated one 
paternoster after another, so as to drive away all 
evil spirits. Nevertheless, he fell asleep at last, and 
when he awoke the next morning, Vinska’s prophecy 
had been fulfilled — the boots had disappeared. 



CHAPTER IV, 

A GLIMPSE OF MILADA. 

Pavel said not a word about his misfortune. 
When Vinska asked him, with a roguish laugh, 
where his boots were, he dealt her so hard a blow 
that she ran away screaming. The questions of his 
schoolmates, too, he answered with cuffs, the heavi- 
‘ est of which fell to the share of Arnost, who com- 
plained about them to the master. But this had no 
result, for it was one of the peculiarities of the lat- 
ter that he suddenly became deaf as a post whenever 
one of his pupils informed against another. A week 
passed. Pavel did not make his appearance at school 
again ; he went to the factory of his own accord and 
worked there from morning till night. Several 
times the master sent for him, and as this was of no 
avail, he at last went himself to Virgil's house to 
get the boy. The herdsman’s wife received him, 
and confused him utterly before he could even open 
his mouth, by her loud lamentations. After five 
[40] 


A Glimpse of Milada. 


41 


minutes, the poor man felt as if he was standing 
under a spout from which shot instead of water was 
raining down upon him. His tired and aching 
head was all in a whirl. 

The woman called upon God and all the saints to 
witness her tribulations. No, she had no idea 
what she was taking upon herself, when she agreed 
to take charge of the child of a father who had been 
hanged and a mother who was in jail. She had 
seen many things in her life, but never anything 
quite so bad as that boy. Every word spoken by 
him was falsehood and calumny. Had n’t he told 
people that his forster-parents kept him from going 
to school, and that they pocketed the weekly wages 
that he earned at the factory ? 

Carried away by indignation, she added, opening 
her wicked eyes wide, and fixing them significantly 
upon the old man: 

“ And does n’t he, saving your presence, accuse 
other people, that are of far more consequence than 
we poor folks, of horrible things?” 

The master had pulled out his handkerchief, and 
was mopping his bald head with it. He knew the 
reports which were in circulation with regard to 
him, and while at times they annoyed him exceed- 
ingly, yet, on the other hand, he would often find 
amusement in fostering them. To-day, however, 


42 


The Child of the Parish. 


the former was the case ; he raised his hand, as if 
in defense, and said : 

“ Hush, hush ! Hold your tongue !” 

“ O Holy Virgin, I ?” cried the women. “ I’m not 
saying anything ! I’d sooner tear my tongue out. I 
only mean that your honor ought n’t to lake the 
least notice of that bad boy any more. Those beauti- 
ful boots! he did n’t keep them two days.” 

Indeed ! Where are they ?” 

Virgilova (as she was called in the village) 
launched forth into a new torrent of speech : If 
his honor wanted to know what had become of those 
boots, he had better ask the Jew to whom the boy 
had sold them. It was more than likely, however, 
she went on, her voice growing more and more 
shrill, that the Jew would pretend not to know any- 
thing about the matter ; and Habrecht, wholly 
stunned, held his hands over his ears and commenced 
a retreat. After a few steps, however, he stopped, 
turned, and told the women not to fail to send Pavel 
to school the next morning. She promised to 
deliver the message, and did so by telling Pavel in 
the evening that the master had been there and had 
left word that he never wished to see his face again. 

The admonition was superfluous; even without 
it, Pavel would have kept as far away from the 
master as possible. But on the other hand, he was 


A Glhnpse of Milada. 


43 


constantly at Vinska’s heels, and obeyed' her like an 
ill-natured dog, who, dissatisfied with his master, is 
always ready for rebellion, and yet submits again 
and again. Whatever she wished, was done ; he 
went on her errands, he stole wood from the forest 
for her, as well as eggs from the barns of the peas- 
ants ; he fell more and more under subjection to her. 

Nevertheless, whatever he did, wherever he 
went, there was one thing which he never forgot, 
one roundabout way which was never too far for 
him ; day after day he went to the gate of the castle 
garden, and looked into the court, and stared at the 
windows of the house. At first, with a yearning 
hope in his heart ; later, when the latter had gradu- 
ally become extinct, from mere habit. 

One fine afternoon in May, when he reached his 
post of observation, he was highly surprised to find 
the gate open. Under the portal of the castle stood 
the Baroness’ equipage, a close carriage, drawn by 
two fat grays, with a trunk strapped on behind. 
The servants crowded around it, bowing and 
courtesju'ng, the door was closed noisily, the lackey 
climbed to his seat beside the coachman, the heavy 
body swayed on its spiral springs, and the vehicle 
began to move. At a short trot the horses made 
circuit of the court, turned slowly around the post 
of the gate, and followed the road. Pavel had cast 


44 


The Child of the Parish. 


a glance into the interior of the carriage, and had 
started back as if dazzled. He pressed his face to the 
post ; he closed his eyes, and still saw — saw plainly 
and clearly with his eyes closed what he had just 
seen with them while open — that the Baroness was 
not alone in her splendid carriage ; beside her sat a 
little lady, in fine clothes and with a pretty hat on 
her head, who had well-known features, the features 
of Milada, but such round and rosy cheeks as his 
sister had never had in her life. 

Suddenly the boy straightened himself, and ran 
after the Carriage as if mad. The latter had made 
another turn, and was slowly descending the castle 
hill, held back by an old-fashioned brake. Pavel 
crossed a field, reached the road again ahead of the 
carriage, and waited for it by the roadside with a 
beating heart. It came along creaking and rattling, 
and the boy stretched himself, looked, and again 
saw the lovely apparition of a while ago. And now 
he, too, had been seen, a cry of joy reached his ear. 
Milada’s voice called : “ Pavel, Pavel !” The little 
girl threw herself against the window with such 
vehemence that the pane was broken to pieces. 
The carriage stopped suddenly, and the footman 
was about to jump from the box. But the Baroness 
cried, hastily, “ Stay where you are, Coachman» 
drive on, drive that boy away !" The whip snapped 


A Glimpse of Afi/ada, 


45 


around Pavel’s head, and from the carriage there 
came a loud wail of sorrow. Mingled with it, serious, 
loving remonstrances were heard. Pavel saw that 
the old lady had folded the little girl in her arms, 
and was letting her weep on her bosom. This weep- 
ing cut Pavel to the heart; this weeping he must 
put a stop to. 

So he gave a loud, joyous shout, which the hap- 
piest of youngsters could not have excelled, and, 
keeping at a safe distance from the coachman’s whip, 
began, clumsil}^ as a bear, to turn wheels and somer- 
sets in rapid succession. Whenever his breath 
threatened to fail him he would stop, look over at 
the little girl with a nod and a smile, and make signs 
and grimaces, until she finally broke out into a merry 
laugh. Ah, how his heart jumped for joy when he 
once more heard her sweet laughter. 

The distance between him and the carriage 
increased more and more. Pavel no longer ran and 
leaped, he merely walked, and when he had reached 
the foot of the long hill, the horses were just climb- 
ing its steep summit. Wearily and panting he 
ascended it, and when he reached the top he broke 
down, his pulses throbbing and a reddish glare 
before his burning eyes. 

At his feet was spread the sunlit plain; on its 
horizon lay the city ; some of its houses shone in 


46 


TJie Child of the Parish. 


snowy whiteness; the gilded points of the church- 
spires glittered like stars against the blue sky. In 
the direction of the city the high-road wound 
through green meadows, and on that road a black 
point was gliding along ; this point Pavel followed 
with his eyes as ardently as if the salvation of his 
soul depended upon his not losing sight of.it. When 
at last the shadows of the fields absorbed the tiny 
point, and did not let it re-appear, Pavel stretched 
himself at full length upon the ground, and remained 
lying there motionless as a corpse. His sister had 
become a lady, and had gone away to the town. If he 
went to the garden-gate now, he might as well pass 
by ; the joy of watching for the little one was over. 
Bitterness and desolation filled the boy’s soul as he 
thought of the loss of his only happiness. He would 
fain have wept, but he could not ; he would also 
have been glad to die, right here on the spot. He 
had often heard his existence execrated by his father 
as well as by strangers, and never without a feeling 
of deep indignation ; now he himself longed for 
death, and when one has once got as far as that, he 
thought, the end can’t be very far off. And are we 
not free to hasten it? There are different ways of 
doing so. We can hold our breath, for instance, 
that is not hard; all that is needed is to do it long 
enough. Pavel makes the attempt with desperate 


A Glimpse of Milada, 


47 


resolution, and as, in so doing, he digs his head into 
the ground, something moves in his neighborhood, 
and he hears a faint sound like fluttering of little 
wings. He looks. 

A few steps from him a partridge is sitting on her 
nest, with her eyes fixed in unutterable terror upon 
an enemy who is creeping stealthily towards her 
through the young grain, inaudibly, threateningly, 
gray — it is a cat. Pavel sees her standing quite 
near the nest ; she licks her lipless mouth, arches 
her back, and prepares to spring upon her prey. 
One stroke of the wings and the bird would be out 
of danger, but it does not stir. Pavel, in his anxiety 
for the little creature, had forgotten all his ideas of 
suicide. “ Why don’t you fly, you stupid thing?” 
he thought. But instead of escaping, the partridge 
crouched farther down, sought to cover its nest 
still more closely, and followed with its little dark 
eyes every movement of its assailant. Pavel had 
taken up a clod, jumped up suddenly, and threw it 
at the cat’s head with so much force that she turned 
upon her own axis, and blinded and sneezing, ran 
away. 

Pavel looked after her ; he felt both sad and 
happy. He had experienced a great sorrow, and 
had done a good deed. Immediately after he had 
felt wretched, desolate, and ready to die, there 


48 


The Child of the Parish, 


dawned within him something like the consciousness 
of a power — another higher one than that which his 
strong arms and his gloomy defiance had often lent 
him. What power was it ? Indistinctly this ques- 
tion arose from the obscure world of his ideas, and 
he fell into a laborious, yet sweet train of thought 
which was entirely novel to him. 

A loud call : “ Pavel, Pavel, come here, Pavel !” 
awakened him. 

In the road stood the schoolmaster, whom one of 
his accustomed afternoon walks had brought to the 
spot and who had been observing the boy for some 
time. He carried a knotty stick in his hand, and 
quickly hid it behind his back as Pavel approached 
him. 

“ You rascal, what are you about?” he asked. “ I 
do believe you are robbing partridges’ nests?” 

Pavel remained silent, as was his wont when 
wrongly accused, and the master went on threaten- 
ingly : 

“ Don’t provoke me, answer me! Take care!” 
And when the boy persisted in his silence, the mas- 
ter suddenly raised his stick, and aimed a blow at 
Pavel, which the latter did not evade and which he 
■ bore without flinching. 

The master’s heart was at once stirred with pity 
and regret. 


A Glimpse of Milada. 


49 


“ Pavel/’ he said, gently and sadly, “ for God’s 
sake, I hear nothing but evil of you — you are in a 
very bad way ; what is going to become of you ?” 

This appeal did not touch the boy, on the con- 
trary, a strong dose of contempt mingled with his 
hatred of the old wizard who had deceived him. 

“ What is going to become of you ?” repeated the 
master. 

Pavel stretched himself, placed his hands on his 
hips, and said ; 

“ A thief.” 



CHAPTER V. 

THE COQUETTE. 

The Baroness returned to the castle that same 
evening, but alone. Her excursions to town were 
repeated every week during the whole summer, and 
it was soon known in the village that she went to 
visit the convent of the pious sisters, whose supe- 
rior was her intimate friend, and to whom she had 
confided little Milada for her education. The con- 
vent-school had the highest I'eputation, and when 
Pavel heard that his sister had been placed there, a 
feeling of happiness, pride, and gratitude to the 
Baroness filled his heart. 

He even resisted for a time Vinska’s invitations 
and his own desire to undertake raids into the baro- 
nial forest. But only for a time. Since the old 
forester had been pensioned and his son had taken 
his place, trespassing in the forest had been strictly 
forbidden. The new law had roused much indiffna- 
[50] 


The Coquette, 


51 


tion, and offered great temptations for disregarding 
it. 

A band was formed of boys and girls, all of them 
children of cottagers, whose leadership Pavel as- 
sumed as a natural right. They went to the forest 
in small groups, merry, bold and wary. They knew 
the hiding-places and secret paths better than the 
game-keepers, and experienced a delightful sense 
of trepidation in going to meet their adventures, 
which could only end in two ways. They would 
either reach home in safety, the stolen wood upon 
their backs, with the prospect of praise and a warm 
supper, or they would be caught, and receive one 
whipping on the spot, for stealing, and another at 
home, for allowing themselves to be captured. The 
latter fate, indeed, rarely befell any one but Pavel, 
whose duty it was to cover the retreat, and 
who was always left in the lurch, because he was 
sure not to tell tales. For Pavel betrayed no one, 
and even if he had done so, no one would have 
believed so bad a boy. 

His reputation grew worse from day to day. If 
any damage was met with in the forest, it was 
his doing. If a trap was discovered, it was he who 
had set it ; if chickens, potatoes, pears were missing, 
he had stolen them. If any one accosted and threat- 
ened him, he would silently stare in his face. The 


52 


The Child of the Parish, 


old people did not even scold him any more; they 
said he was capable of throwing stones at them 
from an ambush. In course of time he was made to 
appear so black, that the Virgil family fairly shone 
in innocence contrasted to him. 

The idea that Pavel must have had a hundred 
hands and the strength of a giant, to actually execute 
all the misdeeds which were attributed to iiim, 
never entered the heads of his fellow-citizens; but 
he himself awoke to it slowly, and he was filled with 
contempt for the stupidity which could believe the 
most preposterous things of him, if they were only 
bad. He took pleasure in availing himself of every 
opportunity to irritate anew the fools who bore him 
such ill-will, and as others revel in the consciousness 
of the appreciation which they receive, so he reveled 
in the consciousness of the enmity which he inspired. 
Whatever he could do to nourish the latter, he did, 
and ignored sincerity even towards the priest in the 
confessional. 

Time went on, the summer was nearl}^ over ; the 
first of September, the day of the great church festi- 
val, had come. Only the year before, Pavel had 
pushed through the crowd, barefooted and in rags, 
and had knelt with the other children of the village, 
during High Mass, close by the steps of the altar. 
To-day he did not enter the church; he remained 


The Coquette, 


53 


outside, like the beggars and vagabonds, to whom, 
by his outward equipment, he seemed to belong. 
His green coat, formerly of decent length, now 
reached hardly below his waist, and presented, with 
all its seams burst out, a sample-card of Virgilova’s 
discarded dresses in the shape of large and small 
patches. His coarse shirt left his breast bare ; his 
linen trousers, shrunken and gray with age, were 
pulled up high above his knees, as if their wearer 
were about to Avade through the brook. 

Pavel stood leaning with his back against the 
fence of the parsonage-garden, his arms folded 
above his head, watching, with indifference, the pro- 
cession of church-goers. The young men and the 
girls approached in groups ; the latter entered the 
church at once, the former stopped at the fair booths 
which lined the street, and examining their contents, 
awaited the ringing of the last bell. One of their 
number, a puny youth, with an ugly, flat-featured 
face, made himself conspicuous by his arrogant, con- 
ceited manner. He was dressed, partially in city- 
fashion, in clothes of expensive material ; on his 
black jacket so much stuff had been wasted from 
sheer affluence that it bulged out in front like a bar- 
rel, and rose to a proud hump behind. The other 
youths showed him a certain deference, which, in 
spite of a slight admixture of mockery, betrayed the 


54 


The Child of the Parish. 


wish to be on good terms with him. And this was 
but natural! For he was Peter, the only son of the 
burgomaster, the heir to the largest, most thriving 
farm in the whole place. 

The first stroke of the bell resounded ; the throng 
of church-goers had disappeared ; only a few, who 
were belated, were hastening along the village- 
street. Last of all, quite alone, came Vinska, at 
once attracting the attention of the small court 
which surrounded Peter. 

“Thunder!” a voice was heard to say; “there’s 
Vinska ! how handsome she looks to-day ! How 
becoming that head-kerchief is to her ! Faith, I 
believe it’s a silk one ! and she’s got six skirts on. 
And what a modest face she puts on ! A nice saint 
she is, to be sure !” 

Each one had a malicious word for her, or a com- 
plimentary one, which was far more humiliating 
than the former. Peter alone said nothing, but 
attentively watched the flight of a bird which had 
been sitting on the fence near by, and had risen into 
the air when Vinska approached. The girl soon dis- 
appeared in the crowd around the entrance of the 
church. The young men followed her, and Pavel 
heard one of them say to another : 

“ I should like to know how that old bandy-legged 


The Coquette, 


55 


vagabond, Virgil, ever came to have such a pretty 
daughter !” 

The other made a grimace: “ And I should like 
to know," he replied, “ where the vagabond’s pretty 
daughter got her fine clothes !’’ 

Pavel had not noticed that Vinska wore fine 
clothes, nor had he seen anything of her except her 
feet, or rather her boots. A half-effaced remem- 
brance of a great joy, of a bitter sorrow, had risen 
up within him at the sight of them, and he pondered 
upon it in his slow, dogged manner. 

Whenever Vinska scolded him, she mostly con- 
cluded with the words : “ and you are stupid, dread- 
fully stupid, the most stupid fellow in the whole 
village !’’ Formerly this assertion had made no 
impression upon him ; but for some time past it had 
begun to annoy him ; he suspected that there might 
be some truth in it. “ Stupid," he muttered, and 
put his hand to his forehead, “ but not quite as 
stupid as she thinks, thief that she is !" Not so 
stupid as to have forgotten everything that hap- 
pened a year ago, and to be incapable of recalling 
and grasping more firmly a suspicion which even at 
that time had vaguely risen up within him. 

High Mass lasted a long time ; the sun was 
already in the zenith when the singing and the 
organ ceased at last, and the congregation thronged 


56 


The Child of the Parish. 


out of the church as hastily as they had thronged 
into it. Pavel’s eyes sought only one, but could not 
discover her, not even when the crowd dispersed 
and a portion of the villagers surrounded the booths, 
while the rest were scattered along the village street. 
Vinska seemed to have disappeared, and Peter with 
her. 

After mass Pavel ought to have gone home and 
driven the herd to pasture with Virgil, but he did 
not think of that to-day. He lounged about the 
neighborhood, in the fields and woods, in quest of 
Vinska. Impatience aggravated to rage boiled 
within him, and in addition, he felt the sharp pangs 
of hunger. 

Towards evening he came to the tavern, in front 
of which a lively scene was being enacted. Drunken 
men were singing, boys were fighting, little girls 
were dancing in a ring to the sound of a cymbal and 
some fiddles which came through the open door of 
the tavern. Spectators crowded around the open 
windows of the dancing hall, watching the goings-on 
inside, and making their comments upon them. 
After a long struggle, Pavel succeeded in obtaining 
a place among them, and saw the couples turning 
about in the smoky, dimly-lighted room. Close by 
the window at which he stood, Peter was whirling 
Vinska around on one spot. He was quite befogged, 


The Coquette, 


57 


and had cast aside his jacket, and with it his genteel 
reserve. Peter in shirt-sleeves was as common a fel- 
low as any farm-laborer. 

Vinska, in his arms, modestly cast down her eyes, 
and turned crimson at the words which he whis- 
pered in her ear, and the kisses which he stole. 

At this sight, Pavel forgot his hunger — his impa- 
tience gave way to a torturing pain, incomprehensi- 
ble to him ; he writhed as if in the fangs of a wild 
beast, and uttered a horrible groan. 

The bystanders were startled ; he was hustled 
from their midst, and did not defend himself, but 
crept away, through the gathering darkness, to his 
dreary home. From the hut there shone the unac- 
customed light of a burning candle ; it was set upon 
the window sill, and lit up the little room, in which 
sat Virgil and his wife, at the bench, with a plate of 
roast meat and a bottle of brandy between them. 
The two old people were eating and drinking and in 
the best of spirits. Pavel watched them awhile 
from the edge of the field, then climbed down the 
high bank — the last cabins of the village being situ- 
ated in quite a hollow — and stretched himself upon 
the broken steps of the entrance of the hovel, with 
his head against the door. 

In this way he could not help waking, in case he 
should fall asleep, if Vinska tried to enter the house. 


58 The Child of the Parish, 


Hours passed ; the dim light .which the candle in 
the window had thrown upon the road became 
extinct. The drifting clouds in the sky, the veiled 
moon, reminded Pavel of the winter’s night on 
which he had undertaken to liberate Milada from 
her captivity. 

What a fool he had been then — what a fool he had 
remained to this day ! 

From the only person who had never insulted 
him, the only one who had ever shown him a kind- 
ness, he had turned away in distrust, and had been 
subject to the false girl who had fooled him, robbed 
him, and laughed at him, ah, yes, laughed at him, 
and mocked him ! She was so full of mockery, that 
Vinska, and made sport of far more trifling things 
even, than his outrageous stupidity. 

“What shall I do to her?” he suddenly asked 
himself, and answered on the spot : “ I’ll kill her !” 

Not a thought of the consequences. Not the least 
fear, the slightest scruple, not even a doubt of the 
possibility of carrying out his resolve. 

He opened the door, fetched Virgil’s knotty stick 
from the hearth, and laid it beside him, after resum- 
ing his former place and position. 

Then a great calm came over him ; his eyes closed 
and he fell asleep. Not soundly, but half awake, as 


The Coquette. 


59 


he was wont to sleep when he passed the night at 
the pasture with the horses. 

Day was dawning when he was awakened by a 
light footfall, which was approaching. It was 
Vinska. Serene, easy and calm, with her inno- 
cently-sly expression, she came along, hesitated a 
moment when she saw Pavel lying in her way, then 
softly ascended the steps, and bent down to push 
him aside. Suddenly he grasped her foot, and 
pulled her to the ground. She fell without a sound, 
but immediately raised herself upon her knees, 
while he seized the stick. One glance at the boy’s 
face, and her own grew ashy pale. 

“ Pavel,” she stammered, “ what do you mean — 
you are not going to beat me ?” 

She pushed him away from her with both her 
hands against his breast, and looked up at him in 
fear and trembling. 

“ No, Pm not going to beat you, but— Pm going 
to kill you,” he answered, in a menacing tone, turn- 
ing his head to avoid her entreating eyes— “ but, 
first, take off my boots.” 

“ Holy Virgin ! Are you going to kill me for the 
boots ?” 

“ Yes, I am.” 

“ Don’t shout so, the old folks will wake up. 
What if they do ?” 


6o 


The Child of the Parish, 


She leaned against him ; a timid smile hovered on 
her lips. “They’ll come to help me, how can you 
kill me then ? Come, be quiet, be a good boy !” 

He tried to release himself for her embrace, which 
filled him at the same time with bliss and with 
indignation ; he felt, with anger towards himself, 
that his anger towards her was vanishing beneath 
her caresses. “ You thief !” he cried. 

“ Hush, don’t make a noise,” she admonished him. 
“ What good will it do if you call out a crowd? Be 
quiet! Kill me if you like, but be quiet — kill me, 
you stupid boy — ’’and now she was laughing, quite 
content, and sure of victory. 

From between the tangled hair which hung over 
his eyes, Pavel shot at her a glance so full of gloomy 
fire that she shuddered anew. It was no longer a 
foolish boy, it was a prematurely ripe man who had 
looked at her and instinctively, in her fear of him, 
she fled — to his bosom. 

“ Don’t hurt me ! How sorry you would be !” 

She stood beside him and held his hands, which 
had dropped the stick. She entreated, she coaxed, 
she tried to move him, and was full of pity for her- 
self. “ Oh, how you would mourn for me,” she said, 
“no one would mourn for poor Vinska like you.” 

“ You’re not poor,” he cried, angrily, “ not you. 


The Coquette. 


6i 


Yoifre bad — and I’m going to the district-court to 
have 3^011 arrested.” 

“ For taking your boots she asked, with a hearty 
and careless laugh. 

“ Yes.” 

Vinska quickl}" sat down on the steps, took off the 
boots, and placed them before Pavel. “ There the}’- 
are, }^ou miser ! I don’t want them ! I need onl}- 
sa}’ a word to Peter, and he’ll get me another pair, 
and a finer one.” 

Pavel fairly roared : “ No, no, take mine, keep 
them, I’ll give them to you. Only don’t go with 
Peter any more. Promise me !” He took her by 
the shoulders and shook her so that she nearly lost 
her breath. “ Promise, promise !” 

“ Be quiet. I’ll promise,” answered Vinska, but 
the tone in which she said it was so little convinc- 
ing, and so curious an expression passed over her fea- 
tures as she spoke, that Pavel clenched his fist 
threateningly : 

“ Take care !” 



CHAPTER VI. 

PAVEL AND HIS TEACHER. 

The following week was quite rainy, and on every 
dull day Pavel took his books and went to school, 
the laughing-stock of all who met him on the way. 
There he sat, the only one of his age, among none 
but children, and always in the same place, on the 
last seat of the last bench. At first the master pre- 
tended not to see him ; it was only after a while 
that he began to take notice of him again. One da)L 
after the close of school, when all the pupils had 
left but Pavel, who seemed to linger purposely, 
Herr Habrecht asked him : 

“ What are you waiting for? I can't help you on 
in your career.” 

Pavel opened his eyes in astonishment, and the 
master continued : “ Did you not tell me that you 

wanted to become a thief? Well, you good-for- 
nothing — 1 don’t teach stealing.” 

Pavel’s answer was on his tongue: “That isn’t 
[62] 


Pavel and his Teacher, 


63 


what I want, and I don’t need to learn it, either.” 
But he controlled himself, and merely said : “ I 

want to learn to read and write.” 

“ You can do so sufficiently for your needs.” 

“ It’s just for my needs that I can’t do it well 
enough.” 

“ You must take more pains.” 

“ I do take pains, but I can’t do it.” 

“ Give me your book.” 

Pavel shook his head : “ I can read from the book, 
but here ” — he put his hand, which was trembling vio- 
lently, inside of his shirt, and pulled out a crumpled 
letter, “ the postman brought me something.” 

“ Writing? Oh, that’s a different thing ; 1 might 
have trouble in reading that myself.” 

He repented of his jest when Pavel took it 
seriously, and, for the first time in his life, said very 
humbly : ‘‘ Pd be very much obliged to you, mas- 

ter, if you would try.” 

Pavel, as it were, kissed the paper with his eyes, 
and then handed it to the old man, carefully, timidly, 
like a treasure that might be easily injured. 

The master unfolded it and looked over its con- 
tents : “ It is a letter, Pavel, — and do you know from 
whom it is?” 

“ 1 think it is from my sister, Milada, from the 
convent.” 


64 


The Child of the Parish. 


No, it is not from vour sister, Milada, from the 
convent.” 

“ Not ?— ” 

“ It is from your mother, from the — ” he hesitated, 
and the boy Completed his sentence with a sudden 
change of expression in his face, and in a hoarse 
voice: “ From the Penitentiar}^” 

“ Would you like to hear it?” 

The boy hung his head, and answered with a 
mute nod. 

The master read : 


My son Pavel. 

Three months ago I put pen to paper and wrote a 
few lines to my daughter Milada in the convent but 
my daughter Milada did not get them the nuns did 
not give them to her they sent me word that the 
best thing for her would be never to hear from her 
mother at all so I dont know if I ought to write to 
you Pavel my dear son begging you to answer me 
whether my few lines find you and Milada your 
dear sister in good health as for me I am well and 
quite content in my place. 

your mother. 

My two children day and night 1 pray to the 
dear God for you, and I believe that my daughter 
will be a little nun when the time comes and am 
working hard here in this place and what I earn is 
laid up for my children. 


J 










isi 

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MASTER HABRKCHT AM) THE HEKHSMAN’S WIEE.— .S'^f Page 41 





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'■><1 


Pavel a7id his Teacher. 


65 


In six years my dear son Pavel I shall come home 
again and I beg you both sometimes to think kindly 
of your mother the poorest in the world. 

The writing of the letter had been stiffly and 
calmly traced, but at the postscript the writer’s 
hand had evidently trembled: some large, dim spots 
on the paper betrayed that tears had fallen upon it. 
With some trouble the reader deciphered the half- 
effaced handwriting, and he was profoundly touched 
by the depth of sorrow and of love expressed in 
this pitiable composition. 

“ Pavel,” he said, “ you must answer this letter at 
once.” 

The lad had turned away and was staring gloomily 
at the floor. “ How shall I answer it ?” he muttered. 

“ Write whatever your heart prompts you to say 
to the unhappy woman.” 

Pavel’s lip curled. She is doing well,” he said. 

“ Well, you stupid fellow, in prison ?” 

The old man was quite excited, he grew warm 
and eloquent ; the good and fine things that he said 
touched his own heart, but made no impression on 
Pavel. He had but two answers to the master’s 
remonstrances, which he obstinately repeated, 
whether they were suitable or not: “ She says her- 
self that she is doing well, and my sister does not 
write to her, why should 1 write?” 


66 


The Child of the Parish, 


“ Have you no feeling for your mother ?’' the 
master asked at last. 

“ No,” replied Pavel. 

The old man shook himself impatiently. “ I 
remember the time when you were a child,” he said, 
“ and a good child, under the protection of your 
mother, who kept you at work, and was herself a 
good woman, only too timid, and always half 
cracked for fear of that infamous — Well,” he inter- 
rupted himself — “ everybody pitied her, even the 
judges felt compassion for her, and you alone, her 
son, have no pity on her. And why ? Why is it so ? 
I ask you, answer me, speak!” He pushed up his 
glasses, and bent his head so as to bring his near- 
sighted eyes close to Pavel’s face. In the features 
of the latter was depicted an iron resistance ; from 
the gloomy eyes there flashed a reflection of that 
determination which, fixed upon a great cause, 
makes the martyr. 

The schoolmaster sighed, stepped back, and said : 
“ Go, there’s nothing to be done with )"ou !” But 
as Pavel reached the door, he called to him to stop. 
“ I just want to tell you one thing. You ’re not as 
indifferent as you pretend to be ; I have noticed it 
when people abuse you ; there may come a time 
when you would be glad to be on good terms with 
people, and would like to hear them say : ‘ In his 


Pavel and his Teacher. 


67 


youth, Pavel was a good-for-hothing, but now he 
does very well.’ For that case remember, Pavel, 
remember^ he repeated, emphatically, and a faint 
color tinged the pale gray of his cheeks ; “ Don’t be 
your own slanderer. The evil that others say of 
you can be doubted, can be forgotten ; you can live 
it down. But the evil, or even only the absurd and 
foolish things that you say about yourself, cannot 
be rubbed off, they stick to you like your own skin 
— they will outlive you !” 

He raised his hands above his head, darted about 
the room as aimlessly and awkwardly as a moth 
aroused from sleep, and whimpered and moaned: 
“ Forget everything that I have told you, if you 
like; but don’t forget advice — I give you that 
from my own experience.” 

Pavel looked at the schoolmaster thoughtfully; 
he felt sorry for the old gentleman, but at the same 
time the latter seemed to him exceedingl}^ foolish. 
What was he fretting about? Could it be because 
people called him a wizard ? That would have been 
worth while!” 

He would have given anything to find out, but 
did not know how to put the question. He remained 
so long regardless of the master’s signs that he 
might go, that the latter at last said to him, gruffly : 


68 The Child of the Parish. 


What are you waiting for? What do you want ?” 
upon which he answered : 

“ I want to know what troubles the master.” 

Habrecht leaned back, drew a deep breath, and 
closed his eyes. 

“ One of these days, Pavel, one of tliese days ; you 
would n’t understand me now.” 

Then Pavel broke out : “ Is it that about the 
witchcraft ?” 

An involuntary cry : “ Yes, yes !” and the master 
seized him by the shoulders and pushed him out of 
the door. 

So that was it ! The old man was fretting about 
the suspicion in which he was held in the village. 
This seemed incomprehensibly childish to Pavel ; 
his patron, from that hour, became a weakling in his 
eyes, and he left his most impressive warning 
unheeded. Indeed, the latter even tempted him to 
act in opposition to it. Let people take him for 
worse than he was, he wanted them to — it is only 
cowards who covet praise and love; but to be able 
to say to one’s self : “ I am better than any one 
knows,” that is the true joy, even though mixed with 
bitterness, for a stout heart. 

Pavel took great pains to spell out his mother’s 
letter, and now that he knew what it contained, he 
succeeded pretty well in doing so. Vinska sur- 


Pavel and his Teacher. 


69 


prised him at this occupation, wanted to know what 
he was reading, and when he refused any informa- 
tion on the subject, tried to take the paper away 
from him. 

“ What !” she cried, angrily, as he struggled with 
her. You want to forbid my keeping company 
with Peter, and yet you have secrets that you won’t 
tell me! You get letters, and you hide them from 
me!” Her pretty brows contracted, and an irre- 
pressibie smile hovered upon her lips. “ Do you 
suppose I’m not jealous?” 

She was joking, she was mocking him, he knew 
it, and — he was wildly happy that she did joke with 
him thus. “ Yes, probably— jealous ! It ’s likely 
you ’re jealous,” he muttered, and a heaven opened 
before him at the thought of how it would be if the 
game she was playing with him now, should, some 
day, he turned to earnest. Some day ! in the far, 
immeasurable future which still lay before him, 
and which he was going out to meet, if with noth- 
ing else, yet with a firm confidence in his own 
power. 

Vinska had placed one hand on her slender hip, 
and stretched the other out towards him. “ From 
whom is that letter, Pavlicek?” she asked, archly 
and caressingly, “ that letter which you hide close 
to your little heart!” 


70 


The Child of the Parish. 


“From my mother,” he replied, quickly, and 
turned away. 

Vinska uttered an exclamation of astonishment. 
“ I wonder if it 's true ! I did n’t know that the 
folks in the penitentiary were allowed to write let- 
ters. And what could they write ? — good advice, 
perhaps, as to how others should manage, in order 
to get to them and share their free quarters.” 

Pavel gnawed his lip in vexation. 

“ Throw the letter away,” Vinska continued, “and 
don’t tell anybod)’ that you have had it ; it shall not 
be said that letters come to us from the peniten- 
tiary. People speak ill of us enough without that.” 

“ Not as much as you deserve, at all events,” cried 
Pavel, vehemently, and Vinska blushed, and said 
somewhat disconcerted, and in a gentle tone : 

“ I am thinking only of your good. I sewed for 
you all day yesterday ; I have made anew shirt for 
you.” 

“ A shirt — indeed ?” 

“ But trust to me ; you ought not to have any- 
thing to do with your mother; you may believe me, 
she deserved the gallows more than your father ; 
and 1 am sure he was right when he declared again 
and again in court, ‘ my wife persuaded me.’ He 
never knew what he was about, he was always 
drunk ; but she — ah, she was a cunning one I and it 


Pavel arid his Teacher, 


71 


happened just as with Adam and Eve in Para- 
dise.’' 

She looked at him keenly askance, and encoun- 
tered, in his features, an expression of intense 
astonishment. 

“ Was Adam drunk?” he asked, with curiosity. 

Vinska took hold of both his ears, shook him, and 
laughed : “ Oh, how stupid you are ! we are not 

talking about Adam, but about your father, and 
that your mother persuaded him to kill the curate.” 

Be quiet,” cried Pavel, “ you lie !” 

Pm not lying ; I am only saying what I believe, 
and what others believe too.” 

‘‘ Who, who believes that?” 

She answered evasively, but he grasped her arms 
with his big hands, drew her close to him, and re- 
peated : “ Who says that, who believes it ?” until, 
frightened and tortured, she cried, abruptly : “ Ar- 
nost !” 

“ Let him tell me so, me, and I’ll knock out all his 
teeth and throw him in the brook.” 

‘‘ He won’t say it to you, he’s afraid of you — let 
me go; I’m afraid, too ; let me go, Pavel, dear.” 

“ Aha, you ’re afraid ! well, be afraid, then !” he 
cried, triumphant, and— disarmed. He struggled 
awhile with her yet, in jest, and then suddenly re- 
leased her. He was richly rewarded for his gen- 


72 


The Child of the Parish, 


erosity. Vinska looked at him tenderly and leaned 
her head against his shoulder for a moment. A 
thrill of joy passed through him, but he did not stir, 
and tried his best to appear indifferent. 

“ Pavel,” said Vinska, after a while ; I have a 
favor to ask you, quite a small one. Will you grant 
it ? It is something very easy.” 

His face grew dark. That’s what you always 
say; I know it very well. What do you want now ?” 

“ The old peacock at the castle has got just a few 
handsome tail feathers left,” she replied. “ Pull them 
out and give them to me.” 

She asked in so childlike a tone, the expression 
of her face was so innocent, and he was thoroughly 
bewitched. He did not let her see it, muttered a 
few indistinct words, and gently pushed her aside 
with his elbow. Then he took the whip from the 
hearth, and went to the horsepond, to collect the 
horses of which he was to have charge at the pas- 
ture overnight. 

The pasture was situated in a low tract, just out- 
side the village, not far from the graveyard, which 
formed a parallelogram, and extended into the 
fields, surrounded by a high, whitewashed wall. 
The night was as warm as in summer; the moon 
shone in undisputed slendor, and the meadow, 
flooded by its light, resembled a calm sheet of water. 


Pavel and his Teacher 


73 


The horses were quietly grazing. Pavel had 
stretched himself out in the watchman’s hut, his 
arms on the ground, his face leaning on his hands, 
and was watching his charges. The burgomaster’s 
bay mare, with the white mane, had always been his 
favorite ; but since he hated the burgomaster’s son, 
he hated his bay mare as well. She came to him 
confidingly, trusting in their old friendship, nosed 
him, and blew her warm breath in his face. A 
curse, a hard blow of his fist on her nose, was the 
thanks which she earned by her caress. She 
retreated, more surprised than startled, and Pavel 
continued to threaten her with his fist. He would 
have liked to blot out from the world everything 
that had any connection with his rival. Vinska’s 
promise inspired him with no confidence ; it had 
been given far too hastily, entirely too much in the 
manner in which one quiets an importunate child. 

She wanted no noise, no sensation. For some time 
past she had appeared so modest, and had entirely 
left off her former bold manner, her indifference to 
what people might say. The alarm and haste with 
which she had cried, “ It shall not be said that]letters 
come to us from the penitentiary !” still rang in 
Pavel’s ears. 

He felt as if the paper in his bosom was on fire ; 
he grasped it and crushed it in his clenched fist. 


74 


The Child of the Parish. 


Why did his mother want to write to him ? Had 
she not brought shame enough upon him already ? 
She stood between him and all others ; she should 
not come between him and the only human being for 
whom he cared anything. In the depths of his 
heart he believed, indeed, he knew, that his mother 
had not done that of which she had been accused, 
and yet a dark instinct led him on to persuade him- 
self : “ It may have been so.” And from the waver- 
ing doubt there grew up a firm resolution: “I 
won’t have anything more* to do with her.” He 
tore her letter into scraps. On the last one which 
remained in his hand, the words were still to be 
read: ‘‘Your mother, the poorest in the world.” 
“You are that,” he was obliged to confess after all, 
with a touch of sadness, “ you have always been 
that.” Her tall figure rose up before his, with its 
gravity, its taciturnity : at night succumbing to the 
burden of work, of misery, of abuse ; in the morning 
taking up her unremitting task again. He saw him- 
self as a child beside her, spurred on by her exam- 
ple, almost as quiet and as familiar with misery as 
she. He remembered many a harsh reproof which 
his mother had given him, and not one expression 
of tenderness — but many proofs of her silent care — 
in particular the daily unequal division of the bread : 
a large piece for each child, a small one for herself. 


Pavel and his Teacher. 


75 


Pavel began to collect the pieces of the letter, 
laid them one upon another, and looked at the heap, 
undecided as to what he should do with it. At last 
he carried it to the graveyard, and there buried it at 
the foot of the wall, under the drooping branches of 
a weeping ash. 

Returning to the hut, he lay down and went to 
sleep, and dreamt of the fine shirt which Vinska had 
made for him, and which a tall woman with veiled 
face, clad in the dark garments of a convict, tried to 
take away from him. The image of that woman 
pursued him from that time ; and if, on moonlight 
nights, he only gazed steadily towards the grave- 
yard for a while, it would shape itself out of mist 
and vapor, and glide along past the gleaming wall. 
Pavel would stare at the apparition in deep horror, 
and think : “ My mother must be dead, and her 
ghost has come to visit me." 

He never told Vinska of this experience, nor 
would he have found any opportunity for so doing. 
She was ungracious towards him, looked at his 
hands whenever he came home, and said, pertly : 
“Thank you for the feathers!" and otherwise 
avoided him in evident displeasure. He felt con- 
vinced that this would not change until he had 
yielded to her will, and therefore concluded to fulfill 
her childish wish, which seemed to him an easy 


76 


The Child of the Parish, 


matter. Since Milada’s departure, the gate oi the 
castle-garden again stood open from morning till 
night, and the old peacock strutted past it countless 
times during the day. 

He had retained, indeed, only some remnants of 
his gay summer-plumage, three splendid specimens 
of tail-feathers, on ridiculously long quills, not yet 
covered by the new growth. Pavel watched for 
him one day, and when he saw him coming, crept 
after him into the garden. Along a narrow path, 
hidden from the house by trees and bushes, the 
bird walked slowly, picking an insect from the 
ground here and there from mere love of sport. 
Suddenly, softly though Pavel crept along, he must 
have heard his footsteps, for he stopped, stretched 
his neck with a quick, wavy motion, and turned his 
head towards his pursuer, as if he would ask: 
“What do you want of me?” “You’ll see in a 
minute,” thought the lad, and when Master Peacock 
quickened his pace, Pavel took a couple of leaps, 
slipped, and fell. 

Retaining his presence of mind, however, he 
stretched out his hand, and, with a firm, fortunate 
grasp, robbed the bird at once of its last adornment. 
It uttered a harsh cry of alarm, and turned, sprang 
upward, half flying, half jumping, and before the pros- 
trate boy could think, the angry creature was sit- 


Pavel and his Teacher. 


11 


ting on his neck, pecking with its hard sharp beak 
at his head and temples. It hurt; but yet Pavel 
thought it very funny that a bird should engage 
in a combat with him. He laughed — though some- 
what convulsively — and made a violent exertion to 
shake the creature off. But its claws tightened 
their grasp with alarming force, it spread its wings, 
balanced itself, and, screaming incessantly, stretched 
its little head far forward, seeking and threatening 
its enemy’s eyes. 

The latter became frightened. He seized the 
long blue neck, the feathers of which rose beneath 
his fingers, with both hands, and twisted it almost to 
a knot. The bird uttered a shrill, despairing cry, 
and slid over Pavel’s shoulder to the ground, 
where it remained lying on its back, its feet drawn 
up and twitching. The victor had no time to con- 
vince himself whether it was dead or not, for he 
saw people coming from the castle ; he therefore 
picked up the feathers from the grass, and was out 
of the garden in a flash. Once outside, in the road, 
he slackened his pace, so as not to attract by it the 
attention of passers-by. His heart beat violently, 
and he thought of the excitement which there would 
be in the castle at the discovery of the quivering 
bird. At the head of those whom its screams had 


78 


The Child of the Parish. 


attracted to the place of combat, he thought he had 
recognized the Baroness. 

For a while Pavel continued his way unmolested, 
and was beginning to hope that he had escaped 
both suspicion and danger, when the cry of : You 
gallows bird, you bad boy!” fell upon his ear, and 
convinced him of the contrary. A quick backward 
glance showed him that he was followed by the 
thin, round-shouldered gardener and two old work- 
men. “ Stretch your legs, you miserable cripples,” 
he cried, mockingly, and shot ahead, in a light, 
swift run. 

He had a good start of his pursuers, and when he 
began to run, the distance lengthened between them, 
lengthened rapidly. He no longer cared for the 
attention which he attracted, but only thought of 
securing his booty. With glowing face and spark- 
ling eyes, he rushed into the hut. Vinska was 
standing alone in the hall, and blushed for pleasure 
when Pavel held out the feathers to her. But when 
he cried, hastily : ‘‘ Hide them, hide yourself!” she 
was greatly alarmed, and said : “ What’s the matter 
with them ? I don’t want them, if there’s anything 
the matter with them !” He pressed the stolen 
goods upon her, pushed her into the room, and 
returned to the entrance of the hut, where he 


Pavel and his Teacher. 


79 


leaned against the door-post, folded his arms, and 
waited for his pursuers in a defiant spirit. 

Their leader was so excited, that he could only 
utter his commands incoherently. “ Seize him, 
seize the dog! To the castle with him !’' he called 
out to his companions, two weak and peaceable indi- 
viduals, who looked at each other and then at him. 
and then at each other again. Seize him ! was that 
their business? They considered themselves able 
under-gardeners, because they would take up their 
rakes and scrape the paths with them as soon as they 
saw the Baroness approaching. The rest of the day 
they would lie in the grass, drinking brand)^ and 
sometimes smoking ; but most of the time they were 
asleep. 

For Pavel it would have been mere play, and at 
the same time a real satisfaction, to run at the old 
fellows and knock them over ; but for Vinska’s sake, 
and in view of her dread of a disturbance, he denied 
himself this diversion, and quietly allowed himself 
to be taken by the collar, which the two men did 
timidly and without inward conviction. Their cour- 
age rose, however, at the non-resistance with which 
Pavel resigned himself to his fate, and a great pride 
awoke within them, as they led this wild boy, whom 
at other times they avoided from afar, a prisoner 
through the village. The gardener, shouting threats 


8o 


The Child of the Parish, 


and abusive epithets at the top of his voice, com- 
posed the rear-guard, and the street-children kept up 
with the procession. “What has he done ?” people 
asked. It is said that he has strangled something — 
what it was, nobody knows^ as yet ; but one thing 
they all know : he’ll be sent to States-prison, like his 
mother ; he’ll die on the gallows, like his father. 
Fists were clenched menacingly, stones were thrown, 
and missed their aim, but words, worse than stones, 
hit the mark. Pavel looked around boldly, and the 
consciousness of an inextinguishable hatred against 
all his fellow-creatures quickened and steeled his 
heart. 

He entered thq castle court calmly, and was at 
once taken into the house and to a room on the 
ground-floor, which had grated windows, and the 
door of which was locked behind him. 

It was one of the company-rooms in which Pavel 
found himself, and his eyes had not seen, as long as 
they had been open, such splendor as that which 
surrounded him here. Heavy silk, of a lustrous 
green, like cats’ eyes, hung at the windows and doors 
in folds as rich as those of Vinska’s new Sunday 
skirt, and a number of large and small benches, with 
backs to them, were covered with the same stuff. On 
the walls hung pictures, that is to say framed dark- 
brown spots, from which, in different places, a white 


Pavel and his Teacher 


8i 


face shone out, or the livid hand of a corpse seemed 
to beckon. There was a large press, very much like 
the altar in the church, and by the window there 
stood a mirror, in which Pavel could see himself in 
the whole of his life-size raggedness. As he was 
looking into it, and thinking ; “ So that is how I 

look ?” he saw, above his head, a very strange thing. 
It seemed to be a shallow iron tub, from which gol- 
den arms projected, and which was fastened to the 
ceiling by an extremely thin cord. Pavel at once 
sprang from under it, and looked at the evil thing 
suspiciously from a distance. It appeared to have 
no other object, nor any other intention than to fall 
down upon such people as were careless enough as 
to come within reach of it, and kill them. 

After a short time footsteps were heard in the 
passage, the door was opened, and the baroness 
entered. She walked with difficulty, leaning on a 
cane, was very much bent, and winked her eyes 
constantly. She was closely followed by the school- 
master, an expression of deep distress upon his face, 
and his scanty hair in such disorder, that it seemed 
as if he had been running his fingers though it. 
His awkward, jerky manners struck even Pavel,, 
poor observer though he was. 

“ Where would your Grace wish to sit?” asked 
the old man, darting about obligingly and moving 


82 


The Child of the Parish, 


out the armchairs, in order to afford the Baroness a 
full view of them, and thus facilitate her choice. 

Don’t trouble yourself, schoolmaster,” she said, 
testily, and then seated herself just under the 
chandelier, with her back to the window, laid her 
cane across her lap, and ordered Pavel to come 
nearer. 

He obeyed. The master, however, took up his 
position behind the chair of the Baroness, and, over 
her head, alternately threatened the delinquent by 
looks of indignation, or tried to move him and touch 
his heart by ^n expression of the deepest sorrow. 

The Baroness held her hand against her forehead 
like a shade, and, raising her red-lidded eyes to 
Pavel, remarked : “You have grown tall, a big 
rogue. When I last saw you, you were a small one. 
How old are you ?” 

“ Sixteen,” he answered, absently. The iron 
thing hanging by the thin cord absorbed his whole 
attention. He seemed to see it falling and pressing 
the Baroness, in her seat of justice, into a flat cake. 

The old lady went on : “ Don’t look up in the 

air, look at me when you are talking to me. Six- 
teen ! Three years ago you stole my cherries, 
to-day you have killed my poor peacock, whom, 
God knows, I liked better than many a human 
being.” 


Pavel and his Teacher, 


83 


The master raised his hands, folded as in supplica- 
tion, and gave the lad a sign to imitate this gesture. 
But Pavel did not condescend to do so. 

“Why did you do it?” continued the Baroness; 
“ answer me !” 

Pavel remained silent, and the old lady's face 
flushed. In an excited tone she repeated her ques- 
tion. 

Pavel shook his head ; from beneath his thick, 
tangled hair his eyes glanced over the angry old 
woman, and a faint smile curled his lips. 

At this the Baroness lost her self-control. “ Im- 
pudent fellow !” she cried, then seized her cane, 
and with it gave him a blow on each shoulder. 

“ That’s right,” thought Pavel, “ blows again, and 
nothing but blows,” and he sent up a silent prayer 
to the thing of iron : “ If you would only fall down, 

if you would only fall on her head !” 

Habrecht, behind the Baroness’ back, made a bow 
which expressed approbation: “Your Grace has 
given Holub Pavel a tangible reprimand,” he 
observed. “ That was well ; a very good prepara- 
tion for the examination, to which, with your Grace’s 
permission, I will now proceed.” 

The old lady did not feel comfortable after her 
act of violence. She had expended all her anger at 
once, and was now under the spell of a far more 


84 TJie CJiild of the Parish. 


unpleasant feeling: a querulous, sentimental indig- 
nation. “What is there to examine?'’ she asked; 
“the bad boy has killed my peacock, and will not 
say why, because he would have to say that he did it 
from spite.” 

“It must be so! Yes, certainly!” said the 
master, in corroboration. “ When the poor pea- 
cock was discovered, his last tail-feathers were gone ; 
and I’m sure that bad boy had pulled them out — 
from spite !” 

“ Now that is very foolish, master !” interrupted 
the Baroness, testily. “ If the boy — like many other 
silly boys before him — had only pulled out some of 
the poor peacock’s feathers, that would be no proof 
of spite — it would have been foolishness and theft.” 

“Ah, how true!” replied Habrecht, “foolishness 
and theft. That’s just it, exactly, your Grace.” 

“ Is'itso? Who knows?” 

“ Who, indeed, except )"our Grace, who has thrown 
a light on the matter at once. Fulling out feathers ! 
Yes, indeed. The feathers were what the boy 
wanted ; he irritated the peacock by trying to get 
them, and thus gave rise to a struggle which proved 
fatal to the poor bird.” 

As the raven of Odin bends to the ear of the 
latter, so Habrecht bent to the Baroness’ ear and 
whispered : Not without leaving traces of his 


Pavel and his Teacher, 


35 


valor on the enemy. Your Grace will have the 
goodness to observe that the lad s forehead is cut 
in various places, and quite bloody.” 

“ Indeed ? indeed — it seems so to me.” 

“ Speak, Holub Pavel,” cried the master, standing 
erect again, ‘‘ excuse yourself. You wanted the 
feathers, you stupid boy ; you had no malicious 
intention ?” 

“Speak!” the Baroness, too, commanded him. 
“ Did some one tell you to steal the feathers ? for, 
after all,” she added, after a moment’s reflection, 
“ what could j’ou have done with them ?” 

“Certainly; what? Such a beggar, with pea- 
cock’s feathers.” 

At every mention of the word feathers, a shiver 
ran through the lad ; but when the master attacked 
him with the question : 

“ Who told you to do it? wasn’t it that minx of a 
Vinska ?” he was seized with a mortal fear of the 
evil consequences which this suspicion might have 
for the herdsman’s daughter, and, firmly resolved to 
avert it from her, he said, in a low voice : 

“ No one told me to do it ; I did it from spite.” 

The Baroness struck the floor violently with her 
cane, and rose. “ There you have it,” she said to 
the schoolmaster, “just listen to him ; you might as 
well give him up; he is lost.” 


86 


The Child of the Parish. 


“ May your Grace have pity !” entreated the old 
man. “ Do not believe him. The senseless idiot is 
lying- so as to make himself out a knave ; the simple- 
ton does not know what he is doing, your Grace 

She beckoned to him to be silent, and came close 
to Pavel. Her weary eyes surveyed the lad with a 
sorrowful expression. 

And this is the brother of my dear child,” she 
said, with a deep sigh. “ As often as the child 
writes to me, and as often as I see her, she asks : 
‘ How is my Pavel? When is my Pavel coming to 
see me?’ She knows that I do not wish to have 
anything to do with him ; I have said so, and shall 
hold to my word, and yet the child still asks.” 

Pavel had started, he opened his eyes wide, his 
nostrils quivered : 

What child ? Milada ?” 

“‘When is my Pavel coming to see me ?’” re- 
peated the Baroness excitedly, touched, and strug- 
gling with tears. “ But can I send you to her, you 
thief, you bad boy, the worst boy in the whole vil- 
lage ? Can I do it ?” 

“ Send me,” said Pavel in a low tone. 

The master drew up his shoulders, pushed his 
chin forward, and made the most impressive signs 
to him : “ ‘ Will your Grace have the kindness, I 


Pavel and his Teacher, 


87 


beg most respectfully, your Grace !’ that is the way 
to say it.’' 

But Pavel tortured his clasped fingers, his bosom 
rose and fell in gasps, and with a dry sob he said 
once more : “ Send me !” 

The Baroness turned to the master : That 

seems to make an impression on him.” 

“ It has made an extraordinary impression. Your 
Grace has hit the right thing with this wise decis- 
ion.” 

Decision? there is no question of any decision 
as yet.” 

Ignoring the objection, the master continued : 

That innocent child will succeed better than any 
one else in influencing him for good, the child — ” 

“ That child,” interrupted the Baroness, “ is the 
pride and the darling of the whole convent.” 

“Your Grace sees? — and what could be more 
salutary and inciting for the neglected boy than the 
sight of his well-behaved sister, than her example, 
her admonitions ?” 

“ It may be,” replied the old lady, thoughtfully. 
“ And therefore we will try it, in God’s name. It 
is a last resort. If that fails, I give you my word at 
his next offence he will no longer be brought to me 
for judgment, but will be taken to the district- 
court.” 


88 The Child of the Paris 


“ Do you hear?” cried the master, and Pavel mut- 
tered an unjustified “ Yes.” In reality, he hardly 
knew what or whether anything had been said, since 
the hope had been held out to him of seeing his 
Milada once more. The unattainable goal of his 
years of longing was suddenly brought near him ; 
his most burning desire, relinguished with a thous- 
and pangs, had suddenly been fulfilled in the most 
unexpected manner. His heart throbbed with joy, 
he uttered a jubilant cry, which he could not sup- 
press, and turning on his heel, he said : “ And now 
I’m going to see Milada !” 

Halt !” cried the Baroness, “ are you crazy ? 
You can’t go and see Milada in such an offhand 
manner. You will go home now, and on Saturday 
you will come to the castle and get a letter. You 
will take that to the convent and on that occasion 
you may see your sister.” 

“ Of course I shall be sure to see her, if I’m only . 
once there !” said Pavel, rolling up his sleeves with 
an involuntary gesture. 

‘‘ Don’t be too sure,” rejoined the Baroness. She 
had grown tired, and made a move to resume her 
former seat. Suddenly Pavel sprang at her, thrust 
her aside, and pushed the armchair out of the range 
of the chandelier. “ There,” he cried, “ now you 
can sit down.” 


Pavel and his Peache7\ 


89 


The old lady had been in danger of falling, when, 
instead of finding the support which she sought, she 
received a push. With a cry of alarm, she clung to 
the arm which was held out to her with the deepest 
respect by the master, who led her to her seat, and 
then, trembling with indignation, raised his clenched 
fist at Pavel. 

What are you about ? What do you mean, you 
scoundrel ?” 

Pavel quietly pointed to the cord of the chande- 
lier : 

“ If that little cord should break, she ’d be killed,” 
he said. 

“ Ass, donkey ! go, away with you !” cried 
Habrecht, and the lad obeyed without losing any 
time in leave-taking. 

The Baroness grew calm by degrees, and said : 

“ He is dreadfully stupid, but he had at least a 
good intention.” 

“ No doubt of that,” said the master — “ if your 
Grace had only not been so startled !” 

“ What of that ? That does not signify.” She 
took out her pocket-handkerchief, and pressed it to 
her forehead. “ What is worse, far worse, is the 
fact that I have been very inconsistent again. How 
often have I told myself : Matilda must never see 
her brother again, that’s positive ! and now I am 


90 


The Child of the Parish. 


sending him to her myself. I ha.ve no will- 
power left, no energy — the slightest occasion offers, 
and my firmest resolution comes to nought.” 

“ That is a sign of old age, your Grace,” observed 
Habrecht, in a tone of courteous excuse ; “ your 
Grace can’t help that. We all change. Just 
consider, your Grace, even the teeth with which, in 
our youth, we could crack the hardest nuts, we may 
break on a crust of bread when we are old.” 

‘‘ A disgusting comparison,” replied the Baron- 
ess ; “ pray spare me such disgusting comparisons 
in future, schoolmaster.” 



CHAPTER Vll. 

PAVEL VISITS MILADA. 

During the night between Saturday and Sunday 
Pavel did not close his eyes. He lay as if in a 
fever, constantly thinking that some one might come 
at any moment to take back the letter which the 
Baroness had given him in the evening, and which 
was to procure him admission to the convent. She 
might have changed her mind, might have repented 
of her kindness. Pavel drew himself up on his mis- 
erable bed, and formed wild resolutions for the case 
that his fears should be realized. 

At last the day dawned, and Pavel’s own fancies 
remained his only oppressors. Nevertheless, he was 
not free from anxiety. As early as four o’clock he 
was at the well, washing himself from head to foot, 
and then put on his shirt and trousers, as well as his 
coat, which had experienced a great embellishment. 
On its most threadbare spot, just over the wearer’s 
heart, there w^s displayed a gay patch, a piece of 

[91] 


Q2 The Child of the Parish. 

stuli, as large as his hand, which had been left over 
in the cutting out of Vinska’s new bodice. Pavel 
resolved to rip it off and give it to little Milada, if 
she should like it as well as he did. 

And so he started full of vigor and joyful antici- 
pation, and met not a soul in the whole village. He 
passed along the wall of the castle-garden with 
special haste, and then his way led him up-hill and 
down-hill, with the constant anxious thought : “ If 

onl)’ they don’t come after me to call me back !” 

When he had reached the hill from which, nearly 
two years before he had followed with his eyes the 
carriage which was bearing his sister away, he 
breathed more freely. He remembered how, on that 
day, he had seen the spires of the city glistening in 
the distance. To-day they were wrapped in autumn 
mists, which concealed them from his eyes. And 
in the fields, which at that time had been decorated 
with the tender green of the young blades, there 
now lay great clods, turned over by the plough, 
whose share had left a glitter of metal upon them. 
He went on, often lost sight of his goal, but followed 
it with the instinct of an animal ; it did not occur to 
him that he could miss it. 

He had been walking three hours when he heard 
distinctly, for the first time, the striking of a clock 


Pixvel Visits Milada, 


93 


on one of the church-towers, and, soon after, he 
reached the small houses of one of the suburbs. 

The bridge, which he had often heard spoken of, 
lay before him, and beneath it there rushed along 
a might}^ torrent, mightier than he had thought it 
possible that there could be one on earth. And 
this wonderful river, which he gazes at in astonish- 
ment, Milada can see every day, Pavel thinks ; and 
he is seized with pride in his sister, and deference 
for her. 

At the end of the bridge sits an old woman, sell- 
ing apples. He feels sure that Milada is as fond of 
apples as she used to be — what if he should take her 
a few ? The apple-vender turns her back to him ; 
she is examining the box in which she keeps her 
stock ; it would be an easy thing to purloin a few. 
Should he, or should he not ? An inner voice warns 
him : “ Stolen goods are no longer fit for Milada.” 

He stands and hesitates. 

Just then the old woman turns, sees him, praises 
her goods, and invites him to bu 3 ^ 

“ 1 have no money,” says Pavel, hesitating. 

The apple-woman’s complaisance vanishes, and 
her bidding now is: “If you have no money, you 
had better take yourself off!” 

That is the accustomed sound ; it gives Pavel 


94 


The Child of the Parish. 


rather a home-like feeling, and he asks, quite con- 
fidingly, where the convent is. 

“ What do you want at the convent ?” mutters the 
woman. “ You ought to have come yesterday. 
They distribute on Saturdays.” 

Pavel tells a lie ; he does not know himself why, 
and declares that he is aware of that, repeats his 
inquiry, and, after receiving the desired information, 
walks towards a house, which, resembling a gigantic 
yellow box, rises up before him on the opposite side 
of the square. It has remarkably small windows, 
and a narrow door at one side, to which some steps 
lead down. He stands before it helplessly, knocks, 
shakes the door-knob, but the latter remains immov- 
able and his knocking unheard. A band of little 
boys comes along ; one of them jumps down the 
steps to the convent door, seizes the bell-pull, lets it 
snap back suddenly, and runs away. A ringing that 
seemed endless resounded from inside the house; 
the door opened. Pavel entered, and again found him- 
self before a closed door, but the latter had a glass 
window, through which could be seen a hall, with a 
rather low vaulted roof, supported by columns, and 
walls that were covered with damp spots. A nun 
appeared, eyed the visitor keenly, and asked, with a 
stern look : “ Why do you ring so loudly? what do 
you w^nt ?” 


Pavel Visits Milada, 


95 


“ My sister, Milada,” stammered Pavel. It came 
over him all at once that he was under one roof with 
his sister, and his impatience became intolerable. 
“ Where is she ?” he cried. 

“ Whom do you mean ?” asked the nun. “ There 
is no Milada here, you must have made a mistake.” 

She was about to send him away, when he remem- 
bered the talisman which he had in his possession, 
and gave her the letter. 

The sister looked at the superscription awhile. 

I see,” she said. “ My dear boy, 3"our sister’s 
name with us is Maria. You cannot see her just 
now, she is in church.” 

Pavel declared that he would go to the church, 
too, and his face, at the same time, assumed so reso- 
lute and evil an expression, that the portress became 
alarmed. She took pains to make him understand 
that he must wait until mass was over, and led him 
for that purpose to a room adjoining the hall, left 
him alone there, and locked the door. 

So he was a prisoner. The gloomy apartment in 
which he found himself had no second entrance, but 
instead, three windows, guarded by heavy, bulging 
iron bars. These opened upon a grass-plot, planted 
with fruit-trees, in the midst of which stood a statue 
of the virgin, weather-beaten and gray with age, and 
with a gay wreath of flowers upon its head. Pavel 


96 


The Child of the Parish. 


thought at once that no one could have twined that 
but Milada. If she would only come, come soon ; if 
mass would only come to an end ! The sound of a 
bell was heard, they were ringing for the Sanctus ; 
then followed the Consecration. Pavel fell on his 
knees and prayed fervently : “Oh, dear Lord, send 
my sister to me !” He longed, he hoped, he waited 
— the bell had long since rung for the Benediction, 
the little one did not appear. And it was as quiet 
all around him as in an empty church. Not a soul 
to be seen in the garden, not a sound, not a step to 
be heard in the hall. Pavel threw himself against 
the door, and thumped and kicked at it as long as 
he could. In vain; no one came to release him. 
Exhausted and in despair, he sank upon the floor 
beside a large table, which, with a few chairs set 
against the wall, composed the entire furniture of 
the apartment. 

“ She don’t come, she don’t come, and they have 
locked me in and forgotten me,” this he said to him- 
self, at first with hot indignation at something 
abominable and unheard of, finally with a dull resig- 
nation to the itievitable. His head grew more and 
more heavy, his eyes closed, he fell asleep. He 
slept so soundly, so deeply, that he was not awak- 
ened when the door was suddenly thrown open, that 
he regained consciousness only when two little arms 


Pavel Visits Milada. 


97 


clung around his neck, when a dear, beloved voice 
cried, joyfully : 

** Pavel, dearest Pavel, have you come at last ?” 

He opened his eyes wide, jumped up, stared, 
turned scarlet, would have liked to say something 
and could not — burned to take her to his heart, and 
dared not. Ah, he had fancied his sister beautiful, 
very beautiful, but so beautiful as she appeared to 
him in reality, he never could have imagined her. 

She wore a dark blue dress, the cut of which 
somewhat resembled that of a priest’s surplice, and, 
on her breast, a silver cross. Her fair hair was con- 
fined in a braid, which hung down her back to her 
waist; but on her forehead, at her temples, and at 
the back of her neck the short hairs, having way- 
wardly escaped the smoothing hand, formed tiny, 
delicate, golden curls, and surrounded her head like 
a halo. 

The admiration with which Pavel gazed at the 
child grew more and more timid; suddenly tears 
dimmed his eyes ; he raised his arm and pressed it 
to his face. 

This singular reception staggered the little girl 
for a while, but she soon embraced her brother 
anew, and under her caresses dispelled the feeling 
of estrangement which had come over him at the 
sight of her. He sat down, took her on his lap. 


98 


The Child of the Parish. 


kissed and fondled her, and listened to all she had to 
tell him, wanted to know most particularly how she 
lived, how she occupied herself, what she studied, 
and, above all things — what she had o eat. He was 
astonished at the small value which she set on that 
important matter, and that she seemed to care for 
nothing so much as for being the best girl in the 
whole convent-school, and for having this fact 
acknowledged. 

“ It is hard to be the best, because there are so 
many good girls ; but I am the best, for all that,'' 
she said, then drew herself up joyfully, and cried, 
more in a tone of conviction than of interrogation : 
“ You are good, too ?” 

“ I?” replied Pavel, full of honest surprise, “ how 
should I be good ?” 

Without removing her clasped fingers from his 
neck, she stretched out her arms, leaned back, looked 
into his eyes, and said : 

How should you be good? Why, just— just as 
everybody is good ; by not doing anything wrong. 
I hope you don’t do anything wrong?” 

He shook his head and tried to extricate himself 
from her, and especially to avoid her eye : “ Why 

should 1 not do wrong things?” he muttered ; “there 
is no other way — ” 

“ And what wrong do you do, for instance?” 


Pavel Visits Milada. 


99 


“ For instance ? I take thing's from people/’ 

‘‘What things ?” 

“ What questions you ask ! What should I take ? 
what I have always taken — fruit, turnips, or wood.” 

With increasing alarm, but still doubting, the lit- 
tle girl cried out : 

“ Why, then you are a thief !” 

“ That’s what 1 am.’ 

“ That’s not true ! say that it’s not true, that you 
are not bad, for God’s sake, say so !” 

She threatened, coaxed, and was disconcerted 
when he made the excuse: 

“ How can I help being bad ? our parents were 
bad, too.” 

“ Just because of that,” she cried, “ don’t you under- 
stand just because of that I am the best girl in the 
whole school, and you ought to be the best boy in 
the whole village, so that God will pardon our 
parents, so that their souls may be saved. Think of 
father’s soul, where that is now.” 

A sudden pallor passed over her rosy cheeks like 
a breath. “We must pray all the time,” she con- 
tinued, “ pray and do good works, and with each 
good work say to ourselves : ‘ For the poor soul 
that is burning in purgatory.’ ” 

In a tone of the deepest conviction Pavel assent- 
ed : “Yes, I’m sure it is burning.” 


lOO 


The Child of the Parish, 


“ O God in heaven ! — and do you know what I 
think?” whispered the child: “ If we do wrong, it 
burns harder than ever, because God thinks to him- 
self : ‘ That comes of the evil example that these 
children have had from — ’ ” She stopped, swallowed 
several times in succession, her eyes opened wide, 
and rested on her brother, full of passionate sorrow. 
Suddenly she seized his head with both hands, 
pressed her face to his, and asked : 

“ Why do you steal ? ’ 

“ Nonsense,” he replied, let me be.’ 

She clung to him still closer, and cried, beseech- 
ingly : “ Tell me, tell me!” and when he would not 
answer, she began to question him. “ Can it be that 
you steal from hunger? Are you, perhaps, hungry 
sometimes?” 

He smiled composedly: 1 am always hungry.” 

Always !” 

“ But I don’t always think of it,” he said, attempt- 
ing to quiet her, as she broke out in lamentation at 
his answer. The child, however, did not listen to 
him, but ran from the room, reproaching herself 
violently. 

Soon she returned, followed by a lay-sister, who 
carried a plate loaded with meat and bread. The 
latter was placed upon the table, and Pavel invited 
to help himself. 


Pavel Visits Milada. 


lO 


He did honor to the invitation, ate quickly, and 
was satisfied in a surprisingly short time. 

“ Is that all your appetite ?” asked the sister, look- 
ing at him kindly with her bright young eyes; 
“ you’re not used to eating, you’re easily satisfied, I 
know all about that. Where did he come from, 
who is he ?” she asked, turning to Milada. 

“ He came from home,” replied the latter ; “ he is 
my brother.” 

“Well, yes; in Christ, every poor man is our 
brother in Christ.” 

“ 1 don’t mean that, he is my real brother !” 
asserted Milada, and she grew quite angry when 
the sister admonished her in the first place not to 
lose her temper, and in the second not to tell an 
untruth, even in jest. 

“ But I’m not telling an untruth, sister Philippine ! 
ask the Reverend Mother, ask the sister Portress,” 
said the child, earnestly. But the lay-sister an- 
swered, in good-natured remonstrance : 

“ Be quiet, Fraulein Maria, don’t be unruly, you 
have not been unruly in a long time. Don’t go 
back to your old faults, else 1 shall have to report 
you ; you know very well that I should be obliged 
to report you.” 

With this she hastily took the plate from the table^ 


102 


The Child of the Parish. 


nodded cheerily to the children for good-bye, and 
left the room. 

“ She would not believe that I am your brother,” 
said Pavel, after awhile. 

Milada laid her cheek against his again, and 
whispered in his ear : “ Perhaps she believes it^ 

after all.” 

“ Believes it, after all ? Why does she pretend 
not to, then ? and why did n’t you speak your mind 
more plainly? Why did you give up at once? I 
keep quiet when Pm in the right, because 1 am glad 
that people are so stupid, and that I can think to 
myself : ‘ you asses !’ but you don’t need to do that.” 

“ Yes, I, keep quiet too, not from pride and defi- 
ance, like you, but from humility and self-control, — ” 
she drew herself up, and her little face was radiant 
with self-satisfaction, — “ so that the angels in heaven 
can take pleasure in me.” 

After she had enjoyed for awhile the admiration 
with which he gazed at her, she continued : Pavel, 
I am not allowed to write to our mother, but you 
must write to her ; write that I pray for her all the 
time, and do not want to be anything but a saint. 
Yes, and write to her that I think of her always, and 
deny myself something every day for her, and do at 
least one good work for her each day ; and you, 
Pavel, — ” she interrupted herself, took him by both 


Pavel Visits Milada. 


103 


shoulders, and asked : “ What do you do for 

mother ?” 

“ 1 ?” was his answer. “ I don’t do anything-.” 

Nonsense ! You must do something!” 

“ What should I do ? I don’t know what.” 

I ’ll tell you, then. You must think of what 
mother is to do when she comes home : where shall 
she go to, where shall she live, poor mother.^” 

And then Milada unfolded a ready-made plan, to 
the effect that Pavel should buy some land, and 
build a house for their mother. 

He was vexed. “ How should I build a house ?” 
he said, “ I have no money.” 

But I have some!” cried the child. “Wait, I ’ll 
get it for you — just stay there in your chair and 
wait.” 

She flew away quickly, but a long time passed 
before she returned. She was followed by the 
portress, who kept a keen eye upon an article which 
Milada carried in her hand. 

“ Stop,” said the nun, “ what are you going to do 
with that ?” 

“ I am going to give it to my brother. I have per- 
mission from the Reverend Mother.” 

The portress looked at the child disapprovingly, 
and slowly left the room with soft, inaudible steps. 

Milada triumphantly waved a knit bag, through 


104 


The Child of the Parish, 


the openwork stitches of which shone the gleam of 
silver. It contained her savings, her weekly allow- 
ance from the Baroness, which she had conscienti- 
ously put aside, thirty-four florins in all. That it was 
not sufficient to buy land and build a house, was plain 
even to Pavel, ignorant of business-matters though 
he was; but it was a beginning, it was property, 
which held out the hope of adding to it, of increas- 
ing it. The children consulted how this was to be 
done, and Milada soon suggested that her brother 
should work hard and earn money. 

But Pavel said : “ How should I earn anything? 

As long as I am with the herdsman, I can’t earn 
anything. But!” he cried, ‘‘but if — ” an idea had 
come to him, and this unusual occurrence threw 
him into a feverish excitement — “ if I could stay 
here ; they have a farm, the nuns. If they would 
give me something to do on the farm.” 

“On the farm?” asked Milada, opening her 
eyes wide. 

“ If they woald only give me a place with the 
oxen, or the horses, or the cows,” he continued, “ or 
something of the kind, so that I could stay here, and 
would not have to go back to the village.” 

He seized her hands, and entreated her to plead 
his cause with the nuns. After his sluggish fancy 
had once begun to spread its wings, it flew steadily 


Pavel Visits Milada. 


105 

onward and bore him higher and higher. He would 
make so excellent a farm-servant, that it would not 
be long before he would be promoted to be over- 
seer, and finally farmer. With the money which he 
earned he would build a house in the village for 
their mother. She could live there, he would stay 
near his sister, and then he would see her and talk 
with her often, just as he was doing to-day, and if 
that should ever come to pass, he would be happy, 
would be good, and there would be an end to bad- 
ness, an end to stealing, an end to — Pavel clenched 
his fist at some imaginary being; he had intended 
to say to Vinska, but it suddenly seemed to him as 
if he ought not to pronounce that name before 
Milada. The child nestled close to him, made no 
objections and sometimes gave an additional touch 
of light to the pleasing picture which he was sketch- 
ing. 

“Yes, you shall be the farmer, and I’ll be the 
saint,” the child had just cried, joyfully, when there 
was heard, at first at a distance and then nearer, the 
sound of a bell, loud and long continued. Milada 
sighed deeply. 

“ The signal,” she said. 

“ What signal ?” 

“ That you must go.” 

“But I’m not going! You said yourself that 


io6 


The Child of the Parish. 


1 could stay,” cried Pavel, and the little girl replied, 
in a tone of dismay : 

“ What are you thinking of? I can’t say such a 
thing.” 

Now the bell resounded just outside the door, 
the latter opened, the portress appeared, did not 
say anything, but moved the bell, which she held in 
her hand, more and more rapidly. 

At the same time sister Philippine approached 
with hasty steps, and called out to Pavel : 

“ The reception hour is over, it is high time, say 
good-bye, go on, off with you !” 

He gave no answer, nor did he obey. The lay- 
sister repeated her order. Pavel, however, remained 
seated, his head bent, pressing and pulling the 
fingers of one hand with those of the other. The 
portress called a second lay-sister, ordered her like- 
wise to remove the intrusive lad, and beckoned to 
Milada to leave the room. The girl hesitated. The 
nun approached her and took her by the arm. 

“You will go up to the school-room,” she said, 
making the utmost effort to control the trembling 
of her voice, and to conquer the child’s resistance 
by gentleness. But displeasure flashed from her 
dark eyes, and the words which she whispered to 
the little girl, were apparently, judging from the 
effect which they produced, not very kind ones. 


Pavel Visits Milada, 


107 


Milada listened to them with fixed, anxious atten- 
tion, suddenly cried, ‘‘ Good-bye and hastened 
away. 

At this he jumped up, pushed the lay-sisters, who 
tried to hold him, aside, and rushed after Milada 
into the hall. “ Stay,” he cried ; “ have you for- 
gotten what we agreed upon, what is to be done ? 
Stay here and tell the nuns about it.” 

He grew more and more unruly, and threatened 
the lay-sisters, who began to take measures to remove 
him by force. The peaceful convent-hall stood in 
danger of becoming the scene of a small hand-to- 
hand conflict, when the door leading into the garden 
opened, and gave admission to a long procession of 
nuns, the superior, between the two dignitaries 
next in rank, at its head. A gentle smile upon her 
handsome face, her large, clear eyes fixed upon the 
excited portress with an expression of mild sur- 
prise, the Reverend Mother came to the door of 
the reception-room, and stopped before it. The 
portress suddenly seemed petrified, the lay-sisters 
courtesied down to half their natural size, Milada 
made a low bow, leaned her head on her shoulder,, 
blushed and then turned pale. 

“ What is the matter? What is going on here ?” 
asked the superior, and the pure metallic tone of 
her voice was as gratifying to the ear, as the sight 


io8 


The Child of the Parish, 


of her noble features was pleasing to the eye. 
“Why has our little Maria not yet returned to the 
class-room ?” 

The portress gave a somewhat confused explana- 
tion of the scene which had just taken place ; she 
did not spare Pavel in doing so, and the Reverend 
Mother listened to her with no more impatience 
than an angel might have betrayed, and let her eye 
rest upon . the accused with the sympathy of one. 

“ You wish to speak to the nuns ?” she said to him ; 
“ speak then, my child, the nuns are here.” 

Pavel trembled with rapture and joyful hope at 
these kind words ; but it was not in his power to do 
as she told him. Timidly he looked up at the 
august lady as she stood before him, so bright and 
adorable in her sombre garments, and it seemed to 
him as if he had looked into the face of the Holy 
Virgin herself, and as his eye, in falling, glanced 
over her hands, he thought he saw the key of 
Heaven glistening between the slender fingers 
clasped over her girdle. As if he had been seized 
and thrown down by a powerful hand, he suddenly 
fell upon his knees, and his lips murmured, in a low 
and fervent tone : 

“Help me! Help me !” 

The next moment his sister was kneeling beside 
him, and also began to cry, only louder and more 


Pavel Visits Milada. 


109 


boldly than he: “Help him! Help him! O 
Reverend Mother, 1 pray you, help him !” 

The superior made a restraining gesture. She 
held out both hands to Milada, raised her, and said: 
“ I do not know what you want, and that is not the 
way to ask for anything. You too, boy, rise and 
say properly what you have to say.” 

Pavel rose at once; his cheeks were dark crimson, 
drops of perspiration stood at the roots of his hair, 
he tried to speak, but uttered only a hoarse and 
inarticulate murmur. 

“You may speak for him; what does he want?” 
said the superior, turning to Milada. 

“ He would like so much to stay here,” replied 
the child, in a low dejected voice. “ He wants to be 
a farm-servant, and take care of the horses and the 
cows.” 

The Reverend Mother smiled, and all the nuns in 
her train, the tall and the short, the stout and the 
thin, the kindly and the stern, smiled likewise. 

“ Where did he get that idea? Did any one send 
him here ? Sister Stewardness, is there a place 
vacant in the farm-department ?” 

“ None,” replied the nun whom she addressed. 

Pavel imagined that he had seen a look of intel- 
ligence exchanged between the too ladies, when the 
superior asked anew : 


no 


The Child of the _ Parish, 


“ But, perhaps the farmer is thinking of discharg- 
ing one of the men? Possibly the lad has heard of 
it before we have been informed of it ; could not 
that happen ?” 

“ No. I am positive that the farmer has no idea 
of discharging any of the men.” 

“ Indeed ?” replied the superior ; “ well, then, my 
child, there is nothing to be done ; whoever sent 
you to us was wrongly informed. Go home then, 
my son, and God be with you, and you, little Maria, 
go to the class-room ! — to the class-room !” 

She turned away, and was about to pass on. 
Pavel threw himself in her way ; reverent awe had 
bound his tongue hitherto, the agony of despair 
loosened it. 

‘‘For God’s sake, gracious, blessed mother,” he 
cried, grasping the dress of the reverend lady, “ for 
God’s sake let me stay here ! do not send me back 
to the village ! my Milada says that I must try to 
be good, I cannot be good in the village. Here I 
will be, keep me here. In the village I am a thief, 
and have to be a thief.” 

“ Child, child, what are you saying?” replied the 
superior. “ No one has to be a thief, every one can 
earn his bread honestly.” 

“ Not 1 !” shouted Pavel, as he struggled with all 
his might against two nuns who had come forward 


Pavel Visits Milada, 


1 1 1 


and were trying to extricate tlie Superior’s dress 
from his grasp, “ Not I ! All that I earn, Virgil 
takes from me and spends in drink, and I have to do 
all his work besides my own, and get nothing for it ; 
and when Virgilova goes and tells them : ‘ The boy 
has no shirt, the boy has no jacket,’ t/iey say : ‘ And 
we have no money but when they want to go 
hunting, or to the tavern, they always have plenty 
of money.” 

The Superior shook her head incredulously, and 
made objections, which Pavel refuted. The taciturn 
boy worked himself up to a true eloquence that 
was bluntly to the point. What he advanced was 
not the fruit of long reflection ; the perception of 
his whole misery came to him at the same time with 
that of the possibility of a deliverance from that 
misery, and every new accusation against his cruel 
foster-mother, — the parish, — every fresh outbreak of 
indignation and grief, he closed with the passionate 
entreaty : “ Keep me here ! Don’t send me back 

to the villiage !” But — whether his eyes fixed 
themselves in hope or in anxiety upon the exalted 
lady to whom he ascribed the power to change his 
wretched fate into a happy one, —he always met the 
same expression of gentle inexorability. And as she 
gazed before her, ineffably pious, ineffably indiffer- 
ent, her whole retinue followed her example, and 


I 12 


The Child of the Parish. 


Pavel» dull of comprehension though he was, under- 
stood at last that he had asked in vain. 

“ Go, my child,” said the Superior. “ Go in God’s 
name, and remember that wherever you are, you are 
under His eye and His protection. And if He is 
with us, what can men do against us ? what harm 
can their evil example do us, and what the tempta- 
tion into which their evil example leads us? Go in 
peace, my child, and may God go with you !” 

She made a sign to the portress, who hastened to 
open the door of the hall. Silently, without any 
farewell salutation, Pavel went towards the entrance. 
Suddenly a piercing cry was heard. Milada, who 
until then had stood motionless, without once rais- 
ing her eyes, or her head, meekly bent to one side, 
ran after Pavel: “ Wait, I will go with you !” she 
cried, clung to his neck, kissed him and sobbed : 
“ Poor Pavel ! Poor Pavel ?” Quite beside herself, 
she struck with her little clenched fists at the nuns, 
who approached her and admonished her, with gen- 
tle, soothing words, to be quiet. She panted, 
entreated piteously : “ Let me be ! 1 want to go 

with him, because he is poor, because he is a thief. 
Don’t you see, don’t you see ? he is in rags, he has 
nothing to eat. I want to be in rags too ; 1 want to 
have nothing to eat too ; I don’t want to be a saint 
and go to heaven, if he has got to go to hell !” 


Pavel Visits Milada, 


113 


She screamed as if she would forcibly burst her 
breast, and he, struggling between his consterna- 
tion at her vehemence and his joy at this unexpected 
expression of her affection, stared at her, abashed, 
gratified and thoroughly at a loss what to do, and 
did not stir, when the nuns surrounded him and 
Milada, loosened the child’s arms from his neck, 
and, holding her hands and feet, lifted her up. 
This was done with the greatest forbearance, with- 
out the slightest sign of impatience ; deep sorrow, 
sei'ious regret, was all which was expressed in the 
features of the pious sisters as their charge still con- 
tinued her energetic resistance. 

“ Pavel,” shrieked the girl, “ Pavel, tear me away 
from them ! Let us go away, far away — let us work 
together again, in the brickyard, as we used to when 
we were little children. I will look after you, so 
that you will no longer be a thief. Tear me away ! 
Take me with you ! Don’t go away alone! I shall 
never see you again if you go away alone — they will 
never let me see you again— never again I” 

Her shrieks ended in undistinguishable sounds, in 
a hoarse cough. Pavel groaned. The little one’s cry 
for help cut him to the heart, and yet he remained 
sufficiently unbiassed to think : “ What she asks is 
nonsense ; what she thinks she can do is far beyond 
her strength.” At last she was silent, as he sup- 


1 14 The Child of the Parish. 

posed, from exhaustion. He could not see her — the 
barrier which the nuns formed between him and her 
had gradually become three and fourfold. Instead 
of the overstrained voice of his sister, the lad heard 
another, steady, clear as a bell, which admonished, 
exhorted, unvarying and impressive, and growing 
lower and lower. Pavel held his breath and listened ; 
the little one remained quiet. Only sometimes 
he heard her sigh from the depths of her grief-torn 
bosom, and it seemed to him as if, in so doing, she 
pronounced his name. He could stand it no longer ; 
he rushed forward to break the ranks which deprived 
him of the sight of his sister. He had expected 
opposition, and met with none. As if a signal had 
been given, the nuns stepped back, on either side, and 
he saw Milada standing before him, her hand in that 
of the Superior, pale, trembling, her head again a 
little on one side, her reddened eyes — eyes reddened 
for him — cast down. He was seized with an almost 
unconquerable desire to take her in his arms and 
fly with her. The door was open, a few bounds 
and he would be out of doors, and, once outside, the 
nuns might run after him forever. “ But after that? 
Where should 1 take the child?” flashed through his 
head, and the answer was : “ To misery !” and he 
overcame the temptation which had seized upon 
him so suddenly and vehemently. 


Pavel Visits Milada. 


115 


“ Come nearer,” said the Superior ; “ take leave of 
your sister.” 

He did as she told him, and added, assuming a 
sovereign power of his own : “ Til come again next 
Sunday.” 

Milada burst into tears again, and whispered, 
without looking up : “ May he ?” 

“ I cannot tell you that beforehand,” replied the 
Reverend Mother; “ it does not depend upon me, 
but upon you, on your behavior. Your brother will 
always be allowed to come when you are good, and 
obedient, and ” — she laid particular stress upon these 
words — “ not impatient.” 

“You see, now,” cried Pavel, joyfully. The con- 
dition which was attached to his meeting his sister 
again contained for him the most comforting prom- 
ise. He could not understand why Milada shook 
her head sadly and incredulously when, kissing and 
embracing her, he promised certainly to return in a 
week. And when the little girl had been taken 
away, and he, at the command of the portress, had 
left the hall, and was standing in the square outside 
the convent, he laughed to himself. He laughed at 
the foolish child, who had borne a separation from 
him cheerfully for 3'ears, and now, when they were 
parting only for a week, was so bitterly grieved 
about it. Poor child, how she loved him ! How 


The Child of the Parish. 


I t6 


could he ever have dreamt that she loved him so 
much ! She would have been ready to give up ever}^- 
thing for him : the beautiful house in which she 
lived, her nice clothes, her good food, even the 
sure prospect of going to Heaven. 

He would repay her for that, he knew how : he 
would make himself worthy of her love. He was 
filled with joyous pride, with the most glorious con- 
fidence, his heart swelled with something wonder- 
ful, incomprehensible. He did not account to 
himself for it, he would not have known what to 
call it, it was so new, so strange to him, it was — 
happiness! Under the influence of the miracle 
which was being worked within him, he could not 
help expecting to witness outward miracles. And 
as he walked along slowly, the dreams he wove 
shaped themselves more and more distinctly into the 
conviction that he was drawing near to a great 
change in his destiny, the mysterious beginning of a 
fairer, better life. 

He had been walking an hour, and had hardly 
accomplished one quarter of the distance, when he 
was overtaken by a messenger, who was also on 
his way from the town to the village ; an old 
acquaintance, the night watchman, Wendolin Much 
by name. This man was sent early every Sunday 
morning by the Baroness to the convent. He 


Pavel Visits Milada. 


117 


carried the allowance for Milada, a letter for the 
Superior and presents for her poor people, and had 
to bring back the weekly report regarding the 
protege of the noble lady. To the one which the 
Reverend Mother sent to-day, the following lines 
had been hastily added : 

“ The meeting of the two children has not had the 
result expected. On the contrary, it stirred up 
anew the drop of vagabond blood which unfortun- 
ately flows in the veins of our darling. We fear 
that a long time must pass before we can succeed in 
effacing the unfavorable impression which this first 
meeting with her brother has had upon Maria, 
and if your Grace will take our advice, you will 
also let it be the last.’* 



CHAPTER VIII. 

PAVEL’S NEW HOME. 

When Pavel reached home, late in the afternoon, 
he saw Virgilova standing at the beginning of the 
village street, evidently on the watch for him. She 
called to him from a distance, welcomed him 
cordially, and asked how he had fared. He answered 
in monosyllables, looked askance at the old woman 
suspiciously, and thought: '‘What does the old 
witch want of me ?” 

His uncertainity as to her intentions did not last 
long; the obstinacy with which she kept at his 
heels, her remonstrances, eagerly and anxiously 
reiterated Wait a minute! don’t run so !” put 
him on the right scent, the old woman wanted to 
keep him away from the hut ; something was going 
on in the hut which he was not to witness. The 
suspicion had hardly arisen, when he started on a 
trot, soon reached the place, pushed the door open 
violently, and sprang into the hall. His first glance 

[ii8] 


Pavel's New Home. 


119 

was directed towards the room. There sat Vinska 
on the bed, finely and neatly dressed, holding her 
hands before her face and sobbing. In front of her 
stood Peter, with the mien of a condemned criminal, 
scarlet in the face, and his hat, decorated with the 
peacock’s feathers, pushed far back on his forehead. ' 

When Pavel appeared on the threshold, Vinska 
rose quickly : “ Have you come back?” she cried. 

“ What do you want? What are you looking for?” 

He looked gloomily and wrathfully at the feathers 
on Peter’s hat, and answered: “ Did you give him 
those ?” 

For the duration of a breath Vinska was con- 
fused, but the son of the burgomaster drew himself 
up. “ How does the dog dare ?” he said. “ What is 
it to you ? Be off !” 

Pavel straddled his legs, and planted them firmly 
on the floor, as if he were trying to grow to it. ” I 
did not steal those feathers for you,” he retorted. 

“ They belong to Vinska ; give them back to Vinska !” 

Peter turned his head without raising it, roared a 
long-drawn-out : “ Take care !” and raised his fist 
to strike Pavel. At the same moment Vinska slipped 
into his arm, and leaned against him with all the 
force of her robust, yet delicately formed figure. 
She dried upon his shoulder a tear which still 
remained upon her cheek. “ Don’t hurt him, she 


I 20 


The Child of the Parish, 


said, ^‘^he does n’t know anything,” she said, “ he is so 
stupid !” 

“ Who?” asked Pavel, and drops of cold sweat 
started upon his forehead. 

“ Hear him ask !” replied the girl, “ and now listen 
and mark my words. What belongs to me, belongs 
to him, too.” She touched Peter’s breast with her 
finger. “ I don’t have to give him anything, because 
I belong to him myself, body and soul. And as 
long as he’ll keep me, it’s all right, and when the 
time comes when he don’t want me any more. I’ll 
jump in the well.” 

The burgomaster’s son repeated his former Take 
care !” but this time it was addressed to his sweet- 
heart ; his threat included a tender reproach, and 
though he stood there stout and self-conscious, and 
she leaned against him helplessly and full of devo- 
tion, she appeared the stronger of the two. 

“ Scold as much asyou like,” she said, with a sigh, 
“ I know that I’ll have to jump in the well, after all ; 
my lover can’t marry me, poor girl that I am.” 

“ Marry, he — you !” Pavel burst into a coarse 
laugh. “ Marry you ? Is that what you expected ?” 

Never !” replied Vinska, sadly. ‘‘ 1 never 
thought anything. But he’s my first lover ; Pll get 
clear of him ; so many girls get clear of their 
first lovers. But now I see that I can’t do it, and if 


Pavel's Nezv Home. 


I2I 


I should be told to-day : ‘ Peter is going to obey 

his father and marry that rich Miloslava/ I wouldn’t 
say a word, and just go and drown myself.” 

“ Girl ! girl !” cried Peter, stamping his foot, then 
seized her pretty round head with both hands, and 
pressed a wild, passionate kiss upon her lips. 

Pavel rushed from the hut. 

Outside he shook himself, as if he had got into a 
swarm of hornets, and was trying to rid himself of 
the poisonous insects which were attacking him 
on all sides. Then, tired as he was, he began to 
wander restlessly about the village. That Vinska, 
in spite of the promise which he had extorted from 
her, had remained Peter’s sweetheart, that — he tried 
to persuade himself, he no longer cared for. But, 
that she, the daughter of the drunkard Virgil and 
his despised wife, had aimed at becoming the wife 
of the burgomaster’s son, that appeared to him 
unpardonable and outrageous; she could not fail to 
be punished for it, and deserved nothing better than 
to have to drown herself. 

At this thought, he was seized with a burning, 
intolerable anguish, and at the same time with a 
furious desire to have others share his pain. Night 
had fallen, deep quiet reigned, and its peace angered 
the restless lad, who wandered about, his heart full 
of resentment, with boiling blood. He had left the 


122 


The Child of the Parish, 


neighborhood of the cottager-huts, and was walking 
along the high fence of the tavern-garden, opposite 
which stood the burgomaster’s house. The door of 
the latter was opened at that moment, and two men 
came out. Pavel recognized them by their voices as 
they crossed the street ; they were the two oldest 
councillors. 

“ He’s pretty bad ; he can’t last much longer. 
What do you think ?” 

“Hardly,” replied the other. 

Who? For God’s sake, who can’t last much 
longer ? The burgomaster ? Pavel suddenly remem- 
bered that he had recently met the man, and had not 
recognized him at first, because he was so changed. 
The burgomaster is sick and will die, and then Peter 
will be his own master and can marry Vinska if he 
wants to. 

The peasants approached the tavern. Pavel fol- 
lowed, trying to listen to their talk, but incapable of 
distinguishing a word ; a violent throbbing and roar- 
ing in his head drowned the sounds coming from 
outside. The thought which had made him furious 
for a moment had lost its terrors before another that 
was no less painful, but far more appalling, because 
it made the impossible appear possible, and showed 
him her whom he hated, whom he loved, before the 
altar, decked with the bridal wreath, to which she 


Pavel's New Home, 


123 

had no longer a right. An insupportable pain came 
over him, and the raging conflict in his soul gave 
birth to the wrathful wish : “ If only she would 

have to jump in the well !” 

The men slowly walking before him were joined 
by others, the group stopped for a while in front of 
the open tavern-door, engaged in drawling, laconic 
conversation, and then entered the guest-room. 
Pavel crept after them into the hall ; he did not ven- 
ture any farther. The room was crowded, but there 
was neither dancing nor music going on to-day ; 
nothing but card-playing, smoking, drinking, quar- 
relling. Some young fellows were treating their 
sweethearts to roast meat and wine. At one table 
sat Arnost, between the maid-servant and the hostler 
of the postmaster, with a glass of beer, from which 
they all three drank by turns. The lank cottager’s 
son had improved in appearance of late ; he looked 
well-fed, wore decent clothes, and was even the 
possessor of a pipe. A year ago he had had the 
good fortune to lose his good-for-nothing father, and 
since then he had done well ; he supported himself 
and his mother by the work of his hands, and no 
longer allowed her to practise thieving. When, not 
long before, she had once more made an attempt at 
it, he thrashed her mercilessly, and declared, with an 
oath, that he would teach the old cat how to forget 


124 


The Child of the Parish, 


to steal. With the companions of his youthful 
exploits he no longer cared to have anything to do, 
and would not have been willing to touch Pavel, 
even with a twig ; but now and then he showed him 
some little kindness, in remembrance of the many 
floggings he had borne in his stead in former years. 

When he saw his old playmate looking into the 
room, he directed the attention of the others to 
him, and observed that the boy always looked hun- 
gry. The little party rose. Arnost paid the score, 
but kept one of thekreuzers which he got in change 
for his piece of silver in his hand, and ostentatiously 
threw it from the middle of the room to Pavel. 
The latter caught it, held it fora while in his raised, 
closed hand, but suddenly opened the latter and let 
the coin fall to the floor. 

Arnost bristled up. Stupid fellow ! look for it 
now, look for the kreuzer.” 

Pavel, however, put his hands in his pockets : 
“ Look for it yourself ; I don’t want your money. 
I’ve got money of my own !” he replied, pulled 
out his bag, and swung it to and fro triumphantly, 
so that the silver florins jingled. 

“ Money, the vagabond, the beggar had money !” 
One general cry was heard, and the attention of all 
present was aroused ; many people left their seats 
and a crowd gathered in the door. The hostler 


Pavel's New Home. 


125 


seized Pavel by the collar, shook him, and fumed : 

Where did you get it ? where ? you thief !” and now 
the boy had reason to rejoice that his jacket was so 
rotten, and gave way when he planted his foot against 
the hostler’s legs, and freed himself by a vigorous 
jerk. Leaving a fragment of the old garment in the 
hands of his assailant, he sprang aside, darted to 
the door, pushed through the crowd, and ran down 
the steps into the concealing darkness. 

Hardl}^ escaped, however, and with his pursuers 
at his heels, he called back : “ Where did I get it? 

I stole it !” and then flew on with a jeering laugh, 
while a troop of young fellows, Arnost at their 
head, whom he himself had put upon his scent, pur- 
sued him cursing and threatening. 

He ran up the village street again as far as the 
alley which, formed by two houses, led to the open 
space where stood the school. He threw himself 
into the alley, came into collision with the watch- 
man, who was peaceably going his rounds, swept 
the old man down so smoothly, that he fell to the 
ground like an armful of grain beneath a sharp 
scythe, stumbled, recovered himself again, and ran 
on, while the watchman, by his cries, attracted 
Pavel’s pursuers once more to the trace which they 
had lost. The hunted lad had but just time to 
reach the school-house. He found the door unlocked, 


126 


The Child of the Parish. 


entered, closed it, slipped the bolt, and rushed up 
the stairs to the master’s room, while Arnost and 
his companions were already knocking and shouting 
at the door. 

Habrecht was sitting at the table, which stood in 
the middle of the room, reading by the light of 
a small, brightly burning lamp. His elbows rested 
on the table, and his cheeks on his clenched fists, 
and those cheeks usually so pale, were flushed, and 
his eyes, which at other times had so heavy and 
weary a look, were burning with a strange enthusi- 
asm. As if dragged back to mundane misery from 
a higher, sadly beautiful world, he looked at the 
impetuous intruder half angrily, half alarmed, and 
at the same time, with an involuntary movement of 
both hands, hid the pages of the book which was 
lying open before him. 

“ Master !” panted Pavel, breathlessly, “ master, 
please keep my money for me !” He held out his 
little bag to him, and reported, in hasty, broken 
sentences, how he had obtained this wealth, and to 
what suspicion he had laid himself open with those 
who were now creating a disturbance below. 

“ Has the devil been at you again ?” Habrecht 
exclaimed angrily, then running to the window, he 
opened it, called down as loud as he could, and com- 
manded the bowling mob to withdrctw, He would 


PaveVs New Home. 


I2y 


take charge of the boy, he would answer for him, 
and take him to the burgomaster himself the next 
day. But all this did no good ; he had to leave his 
watch-tower, and go down to the assailants in per- 
son, so as at least to prevent them from bursting in 
his door. And while the old man was parleying in 
the street, Pavel stood in his room, with his head 
on fire, his hands, which held fast to the treasure 
that he had himself endangered, pressed to his 
breast. “ I won’t do it again, I certainly won’t do 
anything of the kind again,” he thought. 

The time which passed seemed endless to him, 
the noise gradually subsided, all became quiet. 
Arnost and his companions had begun their retreat, 
but their excited voices could still be heard for 
some time. The schoolmaster returned to his room ; 
he was very much flushed, and an unprecedented dis- 
order reigned in his scanty hair, which was flying 
in all directions. 

“ They’re gone now,” said Pavel, and Habrecht 
muttered : “ If only they don’t come back.” 

“ They had better !” cried the lad, with a signifi- 
cant glance at the pitcher which stood in a corner 
by the bed. “ If they do. I’ll drench them with 
water.” 

“ You’ll not do anything of the kind ; you had 
better think first of all about hiding your money. 


128 


The Child of the Parish. 


Look here!” The mfister pushed the table against 
the wall, and raised a piece of that part of floor on 
which it had stood before. A small hollow space 
was disclosed, in which the master concealed the 
book which Pavel had found him reading and the 
money, and which he then carefully closed again. 

The lad had watched his proceedings with great- 
est attention, and when all was in order again, and 
the table replaced in its old position, he asked : 

“ What’s the matter with that book ? Is it a con- 
juring book?” 

Habrecht flew into a passion. “ Hojv ioolishly 
you talk, and how impudently 1 don’t ^u know 
what vexes me most of all ? Haven’t you enough 
enemies already ? do you want me for an enemy, too ? 
Sometimes,” he continued, growing more and more 
vehement, “ 1 have wondered why they are all 
against you. But I ought not to have wondered ; it 
can’t be otherwise, it is your own fault. Whom do 
you care for? Whom do you respect? Not even 
me ! A ‘ conjuring-book,’ indeed I” 

He repeated the word with a new outbreak of 
indignation, and wrung his hands, which Avere 
raised in accusation. 

Pavel’s face had grown red, and looked quite 
swollen ; his lips trembled as if he were about to 
burst into tears. With infinite trouble he brought 


m 



“FKOM WHOM IS THAT LETTER, PAVLICEK ?”— Paye t)9 






PaveVs New Home, 


129 


out the confession that he had resolved to begin a 
new life from this day, as his sister Milada had 
made him promise that morning. At this, the mas- 
ter grew still more excited, and laughed grimly. 
That was the right thing ; the boy had done well — 
intended wisely, acted senselessly, white resolu- 
tions, black deeds. Suddenly, he put his hand to 
his head, and groaned in deepest pain. “ Stupid 
fellow, poor devil, I know all about it! I could tell 
you of something just like it. I — but not to you, not 
yet,” he interrupted himself, and waved his index- 
finger to and fro. close to Pavel’s nose, as he saw 
that the latter pricked up his ears with deep inter- 
est. 

“ That is no story for you, not yet ; perhaps, at 
some future time, when you have grown more sen- 
sible — and sorer. At present, the wounds are only 
being struck you, and you don’t feel them yet, or at 
least only superficially, transiently ; wait till they 
have eaten into the flesh— then you will think of 
me— when you are old. Then you will know that 
the worst that can befall you, is to suffer in your 
old age for some youthful folly. Not even a serious 
one. Thousands have done worse things, and are 
living in peace with themselves and the world. A 
bit of presumption— a foolish boast — hardly a false- 
hood, and yet just enough to light a hell-fire in 


130 


The Child of the Parish. 


here.” He struck with his fist on his hollow chest, 
sank back upon his chair, threw his arms across the 
table, and buried his head in them. 

Thus he lay a long time, shaking as if in a fever- 
chill, and Pavel looked at him compassionately, and 
did not venture to stir. What was the master doing ? 
was he sobbing, was he weeping so violently that his 
frail body shook in such a way ? Good God, what was 
it that troubled the man? What was the wrong that 
he had done in his youth, and which would not let 
him have any peace in his old age ? Pavel was not 
given to curiosity on the whole, but he would have 
liked very much to fathom the master’s secret. And 
he would have liked to help him, too ; him and him- 
self at the same time. He had already thought of 
a way ; there was such a storm and tumult of 
thoughts in his head that day, that he fairly seemed 
to hear them rushing and roaring. 

“ Master,” he began, approaching him and gently 
touching his shoulder with his finger, “ master, lis- 
ten, I want to tell you something.” 

Habrecht raised his head, smiled mournfully, 
and said : “ Are you there yet, you foolish boy ? go 
home. Go home !” he repeated sternly, as his first 
bidding remained without effect. 

But Pavel stood firm, like an embodied resolve, 
looked calmly into the master’s eyes, and declared 


Pavel's New Home. 


131 

that he should not go home, he must begin some- 
thing to-day. He had wanted to begin at the 
convent, but he had not succeeded there, and so he 
begged the master to let him begin here. 

“What?” inquired the old man, “what do you 
want to begin ?” 

.“ My new life,” replied Pavel, and was remarkably 
well-posted as to how he imagined that it ought to 
be. In the convent he had humbly begged that he 
might be allowed to stay there ; to the master he 
gave the assurance in a truly comforting manner, 
that he would remain with him henceforth and take 
the greatest pains that he should be benefitted by 
this companionship. How often had the master 
been vexed at the negligence with which the parish 
attended to its duty of caring for the field which 
belonged to the school-house. Now /ne would take 
charge of the field, and of the garden as well, and 
soon people would see whether the field was still 
uncared for, the garden still a wilderness. Not 
diffusively, but very slowly, Pavel explained how 
industrious he would be, and that he would ask 
nothing in return but a shelter and his board. 
Money he could earn in the fall and winter at the 
factory, where they paid up to a florin a day. When 
he should have saved up a hundred florins, he might 
consider the question of buying enough land to 


132 


The Child of the Parish, 


build a house upon it. His sister, too, would con- 
tinue to save money, and he would go and see her 
as often as possible — he knew how bad it had been 
for him that he had not seen her in so long a time. 
In conclusion, he went back to his comforting tone, 
and promised to spend all his evenings with the 
master, so that you won’t be so much alone, and 
then you can read in your — ” he was about to say 
“ conjuring-book,” but fortunately swallowed the 
first three syllables, and only pronounced the last 
one — “ and I will be counting my money mean- 
while.” 

Habrecht had let him talk on, only occasionally 
saying with a sigh : “ Foolish fellow,” but Pavel 
noticed, nevertheless, that the master was not as 
disinclined as he pretended to be to admit the prac- 
ticability of the proposed plan. 

“That is all very well,” he said at last, “at least 
not as senseless as might be expected from you ; 
but it can’t be, nothing can come of it without the 
consent of the parish.” 

“ That could be obtained, if the master would only 
stick to it,” remarked Pavel, and he maintained 
his opinion with such firmness, and when he could 
not think a new answer to new objections, repeated 
the old one with such stubborn equanimity, that the 
master at last surrendered, and cried: “Well, 


Pavel's New Home, 


133 


then, stay, if there’s no way of getting rid of you, 
you burr !” 

Pavel gave a jump for joy, and cried, jubilantly : 
“ I knew it, I knew the master would help me !” 

Habrecht reproved him for his clumsiness, his 
rough ways, scolding all the time, but with an 
expression of deep inward satisfaction on his poor 
gray face he made his arrangements for the enter- 
tainment and accommodation of his guest. Pavel 
received a slice of bread and butter, which tasted 
better than any which he had ever eaten before, and 
than any which he ever ate in the future, and was 
shown into a small room adjoining that of the 
master. The latter spread a coarse rug on the 
floor : “There, lie down, and go right to sleep,” he 
said, covered the boy with an old threadbare cloak 
and left the room, closing the door behind him. 
Pavel remained in the dark, and had the best inten- 
tion to obey the master’s last order, but he did not 
succeed, his soul was too full of joy. So the new 
life had commenced ! so he was no longer lying 
shivering, huddled up, in the hall of the herdsman’s 
hut, into which the wind, icy cold and keen as a 
knife, penetrated through the wide chinks in the 
door, he lay under a cloak of real cloth, in a room 
which let in no air from the outside, and where 
there was a delicious smell of all sorts of good 


134 


The Child of the Parish, 


things, of venerable old clothes, of moth-destroying 
herbs, of boots, of sour milk. How comfortable he 
felt, and how he enjoyed in advance the pleasure 
that Milada would take in his happiness! While 
thinking of his sister, he closed his eyes, and when 
he opened them again, the slender crescent of the 
new moon was shining in at the window. He 
greeted it, and said to it : “ You’re beginning, too ; 

we’re both beginning.” At the same time, in spite 
of everything new that surrounded him, in spite of 
the new feelings that were fermenting and sprout- 
ing within him, there came over him, for the first 
time in many, many years, a home-feeling. Sud- 
denly the memory of the nights rose up before him 
which, long ago, he had spent with his parents 
under the roofs of the brick-sheds among strangers 
and yet at home, because they had carried their 
whole domestic misery with them. And now he 
had a home again, and a better one than before ; he 
had no longer his father to fear, and his mother was 
far away. His mother, indeed, would come back, 
and then — . He shivered, he wrapped the cloak 
closer around him, and said a short, vigorous 
prayer, the substance of which was : 

“ Dear Lord God, Thou seest that I have taken 
the right way ; now, dear Lord God, look out that 
1 don’t haye to leave it again !” 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE burgomaster’s DEATH. 

When the master went to see the burgomaster, the 
next day, the latter was lying on his bed, tortured 
by pain. In his wretched state he took not the 
slightest interest in the weal or woe of his fellow- 
men. As often as the schoolmaster began to speak 
about Pavel, the patient invariably reverted to him- 
self, his sufferings, and his physician, who, as he said, 
kept coming in every few minutes, stole the money 
from his pocket, and did him no good. His maid- 
servant was far better off than he. Yes, indeed ! a 
few weeks ago she was so sick and weak that she 
could hardly stand on her legs, and now she was per- 
fectly well. And why ^ Because, from the begin- 
ning, she would have nothing to do with the doctor, 
because, without much ado, she had sent to the 
herdsman’s wife for a remedy. That had helped 
her ; in an hour she was well ! 

The master said : “ Hm, hm !” and once more 

[135] 


136 


The Child of the Parish. 


stated Pavel’s case, upon which the sick man again 
told him the story of the remarkable cure of his 
servant girl. 

And what is your decision about young Holub ?” 
asked the schoolmaster, and finally was told to 
apply to the councilors. 

So he made the rounds of the councilors. One 
after the other listened to him patiently and atten- 
tively, and each one said : 

‘‘ You must consult the burgomaster first about 
that.” 

“ The burgomaster sent me to you.” 

“ Well, then, you must go to the other two coun- 
cilors.” 

Not one of them could be induced by calm per- 
suasion to make an independent decision, or even 
express an opinion, and Habrecht took care not to 
show too much zeal, so as not to arouse in the sus- 
picious village-fathers a mistrust that he had some 
selfish motive in the matter. 

At last he went to the castle, in order to plead his 
protege’s cause there, but he met with an ungracious 
reception. The letter from the convent had had the 
desired effect. The Baroness reproached herself 
bitterly for having advocated a meeting between 
the brother and sister, was very angry at Pavel, did 
not wish to hear him mentioned, and advised the 


The Burgomaster s Death. 


137 


schoolmaster once for all to leave the young scape- 
grace to his fate. 

The week passed. Virgil went to the school- 
house every day to fetch Pavel, but the boy was 
either not to be found, or he resisted openly. At 
last the herdsman and his wife went to the burgo- 
master and requested him to use his authority and 
compel the boy to come back to them. The sick 
man promised everything that they asked, gave the 
quack-doctress a questioning, almost imploring 
look after every painfully uttered sentence, and 
moaned, pointing to his aching right side ; There 
it is; there’s the devil!” 

“ Good God ! good God !” said the woman. 
“ The right side, yes, the right side, that’s where it 
hurts, that’s the liver.” 

The liver ? Well, yes, you at leastsay something, 
you do. You say it’s the liver, but the doctor don’t 
say liver and don’t say anything.” 

“ Don’t say anything, and don’t know anything,” 
said the woman, with an expression of superiority 
and contempt. 

“ He does not even know of anything that will 
soothe the pain ; he knows nothing whatever.” 

Virgilova raised her folded hands to her lips and 
breathed on the tips of her fingers. Good heav- 


The Child of the Parish. 


138 


ens ! and when one thinks how easy it would be to 
help the Herr Burgomaster !” 

The sick man writhed upon his bed. “ Do you 
think so ? Then help me !” 

If I only dared,” she replied, with a quick, wary 
glance. “ If I only dared send something — your 
Honor would be well in a fortnight.” 

“Send me something then, send it! But — hold 
your tongue about it. You understand ?” He inter- 
rupted himself to listen anxiously to footsteps and 
voices that were approaching, and then continued, 
in a low tone : “ When it is dark, the girl will come 

and get it.” 

“ ril send the bo}^, that will be better, and then 
your Honor can scold him, and say to him : ‘ You’ll 
go back to where you belong.’ The girl can watch 
for him by the stable-door.” 

The burgomaster waved his hand vehemently : 
“ At nine. Go now, go I” 

Virgil and his wife obeyed quickly, but had only 
reached the door when they met Peter and the doc- 
tor. The latter asked his unauthorized colleague 
harshly what business she had here? Peter dis- 
missed the old couple no less suspiciously and far 
more roughly. 

They went home in silence. 

When they had reached the cabin, the woman went 


The Burgomaster s Death. 


139 


at once to the chest, searched out a dirty box, wrapped 
in rags, and took from it two small bottles. One of 
them bore a label of the drug-store in the city, and 
was marked Spirits of Chamomile.’’ The contents 
of the second were of a yellow-gray color, and had 
a thick, whitish sediment. Examining it attentively, 
the woman held the bottle up to the light, and began 
to turn it slowly in her lingers. 

Virgil had seated himself on the bench. “ What 
are you doing ?” he asked suddenly. “ What do you 
want to help him for? Leave him alone.” 

“ Nobody can help him,” answered his wife ; “ he’s 
got to die.” 

“ Got to die ? Then what do you want? Don’t 
interfere.” 

•‘She shugged her shoulders : He may hold out 

nine months or a year.” 

“ Or a year?” repeated Virgil in alarm, and, after 
reflecting a few moments he suddenly cried, wrath- 
fully : Did you notice how his son spoke to us ?” 

“ Only because he was afraid of his father,” replied 
the woman. “ He’d like to beat us for very fear. 
And he’ll beat her, too, then D She laid particular 
stress upon this word, and winked her pale, cat-like 
eyes. “ Then, when his love will have gone up in 
smoke— and it does that soon, with all the boys, bad 
fellows that they are. ‘ Begone !’ he’ll say then, ‘ I 


T40 


The Child of the Parish, 


don’t want to have anything more to do with you !’ 
And the girl knows that it will be like that, and if it 
is so, she’ll jump in the well.” 

Virgil uttered a hoarse sound, and crossed him- 
self three times in succession : “ Talk! foolish girl’s 

talk 1” 

“ With our girl it isn’t only talk,” answered the 
woman, in a tone of the deepest conviction. “ She’ll 
do it.” 

“ No she won’t.” 

“ Wait till she gets a chance.’’ 

Let her, then. She need n’t put herself out for 
me, the hussy.” 

It’s the best she can do. There’ll only be one 
poor girl less in the world. I should have been 
glad, though, if the old man had died sooner, now, 
while Peter would take her if he could do as he 
liked — and if she only had him ! if I ” — the woman 
burst out laughing — “ then it would be he^ who 
would get the drubbing.” 

Virgil at first joined in his wife’s noisy hilarity, 
but he soon ceased laughing, drew the corners of 
his mouth down hypocritically, and said, with a 
deep sigh : Let us hope that God may soon release 
the poor burgomaster from his sufferings I” 

Perhaps he will,” replied the woman, in a 
harsher tone ; “ and now go and fetch the boy.” 


The Burgomaster s Death. 


141 


“ He won’t come.” 

“ Say that the Herr Burgomaster has ordered it.” 

“ He won’t come for that either.” 

“ Tell him Vinska has sent for him.” 

The herdsman rose, and crept to the door. There 
he stopped, turned round and said: “ Look here — 
you needn’t exactly help him, but you’re not to give 
him anything wrong, either.” 

She winked at him mockingly: “ We’ll see,” she 
answered. Around her thin lips, which were tightly 
stretched over her projecting, well-preserved teeth, 
there hovered a greenish shadow. 

Her husband felt a cold chill running down his 
back ; he limped away slowly. 

Two full hours Pavel kept them waiting. It was 
almost night when he finally reached the hut, 
knocked at the door, and asked for Vinska. He 
could not be prevailed upon to enter. 

The herdsman, who had accompanied him, leaned 
against the wall and did not stir. Silence reigned 
in the cottager’s lodging, interrupted only by the 
vigorous snoring of Arnost, whose bed stood near 
the window. 

Virgilova appeared on the threshold. “ Vinska 
has gone to bed,” she said ; “ you can’t see her now. 
What made you come so late? And you’ve got to 
go to the burgomaster, besides.” 


The Child of the Parish, 




“ I r 

You’re to ask him yourself to let you stay with 
the master, and — ” she lowered her voice to a hardly 
audible whisper, — you’re to take him some 
medicine.” 

Aha !” Pavel understood at once what the real 
question was. He had often enough been the old 
woman’s secret messenger to sick persons, and 
shared with the whole village the belief in her skill 
and in the efficacy of her remedies. He therefore 
stretched out his hand and said : “ Give it to me.” 

She gave him the bottle with the harmless con- 
tents and impressed upon his mind very particularly 
the precautionary measures to be observed in 
emptying it ‘‘ in three doses. Go through the 
garden,” she concluded, when the lad became impa- 
tient, and was only half listening to her. “ Keep 
away from the street, so that the watchman won’t 
see you. The girl knows that you’re coming, and 
will open the door for you.” 

With a few bounds Pavel was at the top of the 
bank, for a moment his dark shadow was outlined 
against the lead-colored horizon, then he disap- 
peared. 

Virgilova stepped up to her husband, took him by 
the arm, and drew him aside a few steps. “ Now 
you’ll run after the boy and tell him : ‘ My wife 


The Burgomaster s Death. 143 

forgot something ; he must drink this first, and send 
back the bottle at once, so that she can pound it in 
a mortar, and strew the powder on seven mole-hills, 
else it would do no good. That is what you are to 
say, and this is what you are to give him." 

She pressed a small cold object into his hand, the 
touch of which made him shudder. 

“ For God’s sake, is there something wrong in it?" 

“ It’s something for his pains ; it’ll stop them." 

“ Like the rats," he said, and added, suddenly 
growing angry : “ Why didn’t you give it to the 
boy at once? why have I got to take it ? 

She chuckled. “ So that you can’t say, if the mat- 
ter is found out : ‘ 1 don’t know anything about it ’ ; 
so that you can’t leave me in the lurch, if things go 
wrong ; that’s the reason, you rogue. And now go." 

He turned away from her. “ 1 won’t go," he said. 

“ Let him suffer, then ! No one knows what he’ll 
have to suffer yet! His own son couldn’t do any- 
thing better for him than release him. He’ll say to 
his son yet : ‘ Kill me, or I’ll curse you 1 ’ Run, run 1 
Won’t you go even now ? Then let him suffer like 
a bitten dog, so that he’ll have time to drive Vinska 
into the well, and to curse and swear away his son’s 
happiness and his own salvation." 

She spoke in a low tone, with vehement and terri- 
ble eloquence, and Virgil winced beneath the tor- 


144 


The Child of the Parish. 


rent of her words as if pricked by a thousand 
needles. It is a labor of love, a work of mercy to 
release him ; a man that is a man would do it for 
God’s sake !” 

He panted ; it was horrible to him to see that his 
wife’s eyes gleamed in the darkness with a strange, 
pale, whitish light. 

For God’s sake? Well, then, for God’s sake I’ll 
do it,” he repeated, turned away, and went his way. 

The alley towards which he hastened was formed 
by the back- walls of several barns, and the fence of 
the burgomaster’s garden. Having reached the 
corner of the latter, Virgil stopped. Behind the 
fence there was a rustling, a whisper fell upon the 
old man’s ear, tender love-whispers, sighs, words of 
endearment, kisses, leave-taking for one night as if 
it were for eternity. “ It’s those two,” thought 
Virgil. “ It’s that hussy, that is kissing and hugging 
there, — that hussy, for whom I must go and commit 
murder. Must I? I was at confession yesterday, 
and I’m going again next month, but I couldn’t con- 
fess that, and there’s no absolution for that — nothing 
but hell !” On the preceding Sunday the curate had 
preached about hell, and depicted its torments in 
detail. 

The herdsman still hastened on, his teeth chat- 
tered, he wheezed loudly at every breath. Wailing 


The Burgomaster' s Death, 


145 


and gnashing of teeth, that is hell, he carries it within 
him. But it is outside of him, too, the darkness is 
hell, and what is that, walking there in front of him, 
that broad black streak, blacker than the darkness? 
Why, it is Pavel !” flashes through the chaotic con- 
fusion of his ideas. “ Call him, why don’t you call 
him?” he admonishes himself. What for? why to 
give him — ” he did not finish the thought. It seemed 
to him as if his head was growing and getting as 
big as a ten-pail tub, and as if his feet were getting 
as weak and thin as willow-twigs ; and are these 
weak feet to carry his monstrous head, and the hell 
which is in his bosom? That will never do ; never 
in the world. But what is happening now? Holy 
mercy ! The black streak is changing its shape, and 
it is not Pavel, but the devil himself after whom 
Virgil is walking ; the devil, who does not even look 
round at him, so sure is he of his following after 
him. A dizziness comes over the herdsman, and his 
knees give way under him. “ No !” he gasps, “ no, 
I will not do it ! God in heaven. Blessed Trinity, 
pardon my sins !” And the name of the Highest 
and the Holiest breaks the spell and it is Pavel who 
now bends over the old man and asks : 

“ What are you doing here?” 

“ I, I ?” sobbed Virgil, clinging to him with both 
hands. I, nothing. I was to have carried some 


146 


The Child of the Parish. 


poison, but I’ll not carry it. I’ll bury it in the ground. 
Watch me, stay here and watch me.” 

“ Let me go, you’re drunk again,” said the boy, 
then extricated himself from Virgil’s tight clasp, and 
climbed over the fence into the garden. 

The next morning Pavel awoke from a deep sleep. 
The door of the little room which the master had 
assigned to him had been thrown open ; in the dim 
light of the dawning autumn-day the schoolmaster 
stood before him, crying : 

“ Get up ! hurry, you have got to toll the passing 
bell.” 

“For whom?” asked Pavel, stretching his limbs, 
heavy with sleep. 

“ For the burgomaster — ” 

The boy sprang up as if shot. 

“ He is dead. I’m going there ; do you look to 
the tolling,” said Habrecht, and ha*stened away. 

Pavel’s first sensation was alarm and astonishment. 
The burgomaster, to whom he had only yesterday 
taken the remedy which was to make him well, — 
not recovered ! dead — not recovered ! The medi- 
cine had not helped him ! It had not been God’s 
will, perhaps because the good God meant well by 
Pavel. Perhaps he allowed the burgomaster to die, 
so that he could not force Pavel to stay at Virgil’s 
any longer. 


The Burgomaster s Death, 147 

The boy rushed out of the house and across the 
yard, up the stairs to the bell tower, and tolled, 
tolled devoutly, fervently, with solemn deliberation. 
And at the same time he prayed silently and 
ardently for the welfare of the dead man’s soul. 

When he descended from the tower, he met the 
curate, who, returning from the house of death, the 
covered chalice in his hands, was about to enter the 
church. Pavel fell on his knees before the Sacred 
Viaticum, and the priest, in passing, cast upon him 
a look so full of condemnation and repudiation, that 
he started in alarm, smote his breast, and asked 
himself : “ Is he angry at me, because he possibly 

thinks, too, that the burgomaster had to die on my 
account ?” 

He went back to the school-house and to his room, 
and had hardly reached the latter, when Vinska 
rushed in, violently agitated, quite beside herself. 

She had thrown on her clothes hastily, the ker- 
chief had fallen back from her disheveled hair, her 
face was deathly pale, and with gestures of the 
wildest despair, she threw herself at Pavel’s feet. 

“ Have pity !” she cried, “ you are better than 
any of us. Dear Pavel, because you are so good, 
have pity on us! We have always treated you 
badly, but have pity nevertheless, have pity on my 
old father, my old mother, have pity on me 1” 


148 


The Child of the Parish, 


She pressed her face against his knees, which she 
had embraced, and looked up to him imploringly. 
He had turned paler than she, a feeling of rapture 
mingled with fear thrilled through him. “ What 
do you want ?” he asked. 

“ Pavel,” she replied, pressing closer against him. 
“ The dead man had the bottle that you brought 
him last night in his hand when they found him, and 
people say — and Peter says, too, that there was 
poison in it.” 

Poison?” He suddenly recollected the noc- 
turnal scene with Virgil. “ Yes, your father spoke 
of poison. You nest of vipers! You meant to 
poison the burgomaster !” 

“ As true as God lives,” protested Vinska, “ I 
knew nothing about it, and as true as God lives, too, 
no harm has been done. You may believe me, the 
burgomaster died of his sickness, only sooner than 
the doctor thought he would, and the medicine that 
you took to him was a good medicine. They ’ll 
find that out in court, for the matter is to be taken 
before the court ; Peter wishes it.” 

Panting, in indescribable excitement, she uttered 
these words, and her fixed gaze held his eye 
enchained. 

“ If that is so,” replied Pavel, “ what are you afraid 
of?” 


The Burgomaster s Death, 


149 


“What? Don’t you know how people are ? If 
mother is once taken to court, and is acquitted ten 
times, it will be said, nevertheless : ‘ An acquittal is 
no proof of innocence.’ Mother must not go to 
court, Pavel, Pavel !” 

She repeated his name in every key of anguish, 
her delicate body wound itself about him like a ser- 
pent, and he, with resisting soul, full of suspicion 
and resentment, devoured her with his eyes. 

“ I can’t help you,” he muttered. 

“ Yes, you can, if you’re only willing ; you need 
only say — oh, say it, dear, dear, good Pavel !” 

“ What ? what shall 1 say ?” 

“ That nobody sent you,” she stammered, timidly ; 
“ that you went to him of your own accord.” 

“ How should I go to him of my own accord ? 
How should I take him any medicine of my brew- 
ing ? I don’t know anything about such things !” 

“Oh, my dear, dearest Pavel, a herdsman always 
knows something of the kind. You have often 
boiled herbs for the goats and the sheep, and so you 
thought that what was good for them, would be 
good for a sick man, too ; that’s what you can say, 
Pavlicek, when they ask you.” She kissed him on 
his Turning lips, and he resisted no longer. “Say 
that,” she went on, “ and tell them everything, just as 


15 ° 


The Child of the Parish. 


it happened, how you made your way into his room, 
and what he said when he saw you.” 

He didn’t say anything.’' 

Didn’t say anything ?” 

No, he only stared dreadfully.” 

“ And you ?” 

“ I begged him to let me stay with the master.” 

“ And then? Go on, Pavlicek, go on.”' 

“ Then he shook his head; ‘ No, no,’ and stared 
still worse at the medicine, and signed to me to give 
him some of it.” 

“ And you gave him some ?” 

Yes.” 

“ And no one else was there ?” 

“ No one.” 

“ And the girl ? Was she outside the door ?” 

“ She was outside the door.” 

And what did she say ?” 

“ ‘ God grant that the medicine may help him.’ ” 
And you ?” 

“ I said : ‘ God grant it.’ ” 

“ And when you got out into the garden, was 
there nobody there ?” 

“Yes; Peter,” said Pavel, decidedly. “ He heard 
me, and called after me.” 

“ That is good, all very good ; you must tell them 
all that,” whispered Vinska, embracing him as if she 


The Burgomaster s Death. . 


15 


would suffocate him, and no harm will come to 
you ; they are very clever at court, and can tell 
whether a medicine is poisonous or not. Nothing 
will happen to you, and you will have helped us ; so 
I beseech you, have pity, have pity on us !” 

She looked at him as one struggling with death 
looks at the deliverer from whom he expects his 
whole salvation, and a blissful feeling of power 
swelled the bosom of the despised boy. 

“ What will I get if I do it ?” he cried triumph- 
antly, grasping both her arms. Will you give up 
Peter then, and take me?” 

A wild despair flashed across her features ; over- 
come by anger, she forgot all policy. “ Stupid boy, 
that is not what I meant !” 

She almost screamed these words, and tried to 
free herself from his grasp. 

He answered, mockingly : “ Not ? then why did 

you kiss me so often, and call me dearest ? Shall I 
go to court instead of your mother, so that Peter 
can marry you? Is that what you want? ’ 

“ That is what I want!” she said, gloomily, “ that 
is what I must have. Stupid boy I” She retreated 
a step and lifted her clasped hands. “ 1 must go to 
the burgomaster’s house as his wife, or I must jump 
into the well.” 

“You must?— must ?— must?” He had com- 


152 The Child of the Parish. 

prehended, and groaned in anguish and horror: 
“ Vile creature !” 

She closed her eyes, tears ran down her cheeks. 
“ I thought you loved me and would help me,” she 
said, in a gentle voice, ‘‘ but you will not do it !” 

She said no more ; he was breathless from wrath 
and grief. For a while they stood opposite to each 
other without speaking. He, as if on the point of 
rushing at her to strangle her ; she, prepared for the 
worst and resigned to it. 

“ Vinska,” he said at last, and at his tone, defiant 
though it was, she hoped again. 

“ What is it — dear, good Pavel ?” 

Vile creature!” he repeated, through his closed 
teeth. 

She was about to throw herself on her knees 
before him again, but he took her in his arms, carried 
her to the door, and thrust her out. Once more she 
turned to him, annihilated, contrite : 

“ What will you say in court?” 

I’ll see what I’ll say,” he replied. “ Go 1 ” 

She obeyed. 



CHAPTER X. 

PAVEL ACCUSED. 

In the house of the burgomaster all was confusion 
and alarm. For the tenth time Peter was telling 
the curious villagers, who invaded the chamber of 
death, how he had spoken to his father before mid- 
night, and had then gone to bed in the next room, and 
how, a few hours later, he had been wakened by 
moans. How he had jumped out of bed, rushed to 
his father, and found him breathing his last, and had 
sent the man-servant for the priest and the girl for 
the doctor, and how both of them had come too 
late, and how the doctor, when he took the dead 
man’s hand, found it tightly clenched, and had to 
open it by force, so as to take from it a little half- 
emptied bottle, which the fingers, stiffened in death, 
still held fast. 

The listeners expressed their sympathy by sighs 
and lamentation. 

Peter continued : 

** The curate looked at it: ‘What’s this?’ he 

[153] 


154 


The Child of the Parish. 


asked, and the doctor looked at it too, and said 
nothing — you know that’s his way — ‘ Lord God in 
heaven,’ cried the curate, ‘ have his sufferings been 
too much for him ? Has he died in mortal sin ?’ 
‘ He died of a hemorrhage,’ said the doctor, and 
then he held the bottle to his nose, ^ and this is 
spirits of chamomile,’ says he.” 

“ Who believes that ?” an old woman interrupted 
Peter, and he gave a sob. 

“ ‘ Who believes it ?’ that’s what I said ! My father 
was poisoned ! I saw a fellow sneaking out of the 
garden last night, and ‘ I think I know him,’ 1 said, 
and I went after the girl, and gave her a box on the 
ear, and asked : ‘Who was in my father’s room last 
night?’ ‘Pavel,’ she blubbered, and fell on her 
knees ; ‘ Your father gave orders that he should be 
let in. Kill me if you like, but as true as God lives, 
your father ordered me to let him in ; I am saying 
what’s true, and that is all I know.’ ” 

At this part of his story Peter regularly broke 
out into violent weeping. He would throw himself 
upon his father’s corpse, and the hard, rough fellow 
would whimper like a child. “ My mother died 
long ago, and now I have no father left; I am an 
orphan, and left all alone now !’’ 

Among those assembled, who were listening with 
deep interest to the outbreaks of his sincere grief, 


Pavel Accused. 


155 


accusing voices against Pavel were heard. That 
bad boy was sure to have been concerned in the 
burgomaster’s death. Worthless fellow that he was, 
who doubtless would rather be idle than work, 
he found the place at the herdsman’s too hard ; he 
wanted to leave, but couldn’t go without the burgo- 
master’s permission, and because he wouldn’t give 
it, often as the boy asked for it, the good-for-nothing 
had now revenged himself, and made away with the 
burgomaster. 

The legend was soon complete, circulated rapidly 
in the village, and stirred the people up to unwonted 
energy. The local authorities, deprived of their 
head, sent a messenger to the district court to fetch 
a gendarme, for all cases, while a few hot-spurs ran 
to the school-house, in order — likewise for all cases 
— to give the poisoner a good thrashing. They 
found the door locked, however. The master, as 
soon as the report so threatening to Pavel had 
reached him, had subjected the lad to an examina- 
tion, then locked him into the school-room, and gone 
to the doctor’s. At the house of the latter he found 
the curate, Peter, Anton the blacksmith and several 
peasants already assembled. 

The curate sat in the large black easy-chair, in one 
corner of the window-recess ; in the other, with his 


The Child of the Parish, 


156 


hands on his back, stood the doctor. Opposite these 
two, the peasants formed a regular semi-circle. 

“ Ah, here comes the Herr Schoolmaster,” said 
the curate, in his low, somewhat hoarse voice. 

“ You probably know what we are conferring 
about,” remarked the doctor, around whose bluish 
lips there hovered a hardly perceptible smile. 

Peter cried : ‘‘ Pavel has poisoned my father.” 

That remains to be proved,” muttered Anton. 

** And has got to be tried,” continued Peter, and 
Anton again observed : 

“ That remains to be seen,” which Peter trumped 
by saying : 

“ I insist upon it; he must be tried.” 

“ For the present,” said Habrecht, “ I have locked 
him into the school-room.” 

The curate started. “ So you also think — ” he 
stopped suddenly, almost in alarm, like one who has 
said something which he did not intend to say, and 
who is much annoyed thereat. 

Habrecht noticed it, and maliciously laid stress 
upon the most significant word in the whole too 
hastily spoken sentence. “ Also ?” he repeated, 
emphatically ; “that is, like your Reverence?” 

A slight flush appeared upon the sunken cheeks 
of the priest. 

“ I was thinking of the vox populi^ he said. 


Pavel Accused, 


157 


“ Ah, indeed ! — the distorted vox Deil' 

At that moment the door opened ; a tall man, 
bent with age, with yellow-gray hair and brick-red 
face, entered the room: he was one of the older 
peasants, named Barosch. He approached the 
curate, kissed his hand, and informed him that the 
gendarme would arrive soon. 

“ What is the gendarme to do ?” asked Habrecht, 
angrily, and Barosch humbly fixed upon the master 
his staring eyes — which were bloodshot with drink, 
and always seemed to express astonishment, and to 
be. asking pardon, — while he answered : 

“ Take the boy to the district court.” 

What is the boy to do at the district court ?” 

“ Confess.” 

- What ?” 

“ That he took something to the burgomaster.” 

“ He has confessed that already.” 

“ Indeed ?” said the curate, “ has he confessed that 
to you ?” 

“ He would confess it to you, too.” 

“ I should like to be sure of that, Herr School- 
master. Will you have the kindness to send for 
him ?” 

“ I’ll go for him,” Shouted Peter, and was about to 
hasten away ; but Anton held him back; 


158 


The Child of the Parish. 


“ Not you, you don’t know what you are about. 
I’ll go, master.” 

But Habrecht rejected his offer with thanks, left 
the room, and returned after a while accompanied 
by his protege. 

It was only with difficulty that Peter could be 
restrained from falling upon the latter, but he 
threatened him, and cried, as loudly as the choking 
wrath which had befallen him at the sight of Pavel 
would permit: “ Look at the dog ! Can’t any one 
see plainly what a cur the dog is ?” 

And, indeed, the condition in which the lad 
appeared before the highest authorities of his village 
was not calculated to awaken a prejudice in his 
favor. His head seemed to be on fire, there was an 
expression of sullen, shrinking misery in his burn- 
ing face, and a terrible, unquenchable hatred flashed 
from the glances which, from under his half-closed 
lids, he cast upon his chief accuser, upon Peter. 

Habrecht laid his hand upon Pavel’s shoulder, 
and pushed him before him to the window, placing 
him between the curate and the doctor. 

The curate looked at the boy in silence awhile, 
cleared his throat, and asked, in a calm and business- 
like manner : “Is it true that you stole into the 
burgomaster’s house last night and brought him 
something?” 


Pavel Accused. 


159 


Pavel nodded, and a whisper of triumphant indig- 
nation ran through the circle of the listening peas- 
ants. 

“ What was it that you brought him ?” 

“ It was a good medicine.” 

“ Where did you get the good medicine?” asked 
the master, in his turn. 

Pavel remained silent, and Habrecht continued : 

‘‘ Did not somebody send you to the burgomaster 
s with that good medicine?” 

The boy started, and said, hastily : 

“ No ; I took it to him of my own accord.” 

“ How do you happen to know anything about 
good medicines all at once ?” inquired the doctor, 
joining in the examination ; and Pavel replied : 

“ A herdsman always knows something of the 
kind.” 

“ He lies,” exclaimed the master ; “ he either does 
not wish to speak the truth, or has been forbidden 
to do so.” 

“ And what do you think is the truth?” asked the 
curate, whose composure contrasted favorably with 
Habrecht’s nervous restlessness. 

“ The truth is, in my opinion, that the boy was 
sent to the sick burgomaster, and that by thequack- 
doctress, the herdsman’s wife.” 

Pavel fairly shouted : 


i6o 


The Child of the Parish. 


“ She didn’t send me ! I went of my own ac- 
cord.” 

And Peter repeated wrathfully: 

Of his own accord ! he admits it, but the master 
does not. The master wants to mix innocent peo- 
ple up with the affair. May God forgive the master 
for that! The boy has n’t had anything to do with 
the people whom the master wants to mix up with it 
for a long time ; the boy has been staying with the 
master in the school-house for weeks.” 

“ I only wonder,” said the doctor to him, “ that 
)^our father should have been willing to take the 
remedy which the boy brought him of his own 
accord ; unless — he had expressly ordered it from 
the boy, which hardly seems probable to me.” 

“ Tell me exactly how it all happened,” said the 
curate, turning to Pavel. “ So you stole into the 
burgomaster’s room last night ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And what did 3'ou say ?” 

“ Good evening, Herr Burgomaster.” 

‘‘ And what did he say ?” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ And what did he do ?” 

“ He signed to me to give him the medicine.” 

So he knew that you were going to bring him 
some medicine?” 


Pavel Accused. 


i6i 


Pavel did not answer ; he had bent his head for- 
ward, and was listening to a noise of footsteps and 
voices which were approaching the door. The 
latter opened once more, and Kohautek, the 
gendarme, called also the “ hot gendarme,” appeared 
on the threshold, followed by the councilors. 

The temperature of the room, already very high, 
suddenly rose in such a degree that it seemed as if 
a heated stove had been brought in ; and all this 
heat appeared to radiate from Kohautek, who was 
burning with professional zeal. But it was only 
from his eyes that the inward flames flashed, and 
whatever warmth he might feel was betrayed only 
by the small drops of perspiration which stood 
upon his nose. His face was of a fine, clear olive 
and never became flushed. 

He at once entered upon the duties of his office, 
and began a preliminary examination. The whole 
man was one single threat when he addressed the 
accused, and yet the latter felt calmer and more 
secure since his arrival; he fancied that he was in 
favor with Kohautek, since he had, on one occasion, 
been suspected by him of stealing chickens and sub- 
sequently found innocent. The gendarme asked 
Pavel almost the same questions which had been 
put to him before, received the same answers, and 
finally reached the dark point in the matter, the 


i 62 


The Child of the Parish. 


source of the corpus delicti^ the little bottle. With 
regard to this corpus^ this bottle, the boy must make 
a statement, he must do it ! Kohautek was confident 
of prevailing upon him to do so at once, questioned 
him, encouraged him, warned him against the dan- 
ger to which he exposed himself by his obstinate 
silence, all in vain. The lad winked at him almost 
familiarly, and remained deaf to his admonitions as 
well as to those of the curate and the earnest entreat- 
ies of Habrecht, and insensible to the abuses of Peter 
and his associates. 

Finally, he grew entirely dumb, and the peasants 
saw in this the surest proof of his consciousness of 
guilt. Peter spat on the floor before him : 

“ He shall be tried !” he said again. “ He poisoned 
my father.” 

“ With spirits of chamomile,” said the doctor, tak- 
ing the bottle from his pocket and holding it to the 
nose of the blacksmith Anton, the only one of the 
party who had his wits about him. 

Anton smelt of it, shrugged his shoulders, and 
said : 

“Yes, indeed — it smells of chamomile, — but — ” 

“ Well,— but?” 

“ No one knows what it isP 

The master, who was quivering all over, and who 
was constantly muttering to himself : “ Control 


Pavel Accused. 


163 


yourself ; Habrecht, keep your nerves under,” 
replied to this: “What do you think, my men, if 
this were poison, would I drink of it ? See, I am 
going to drink some !” He asked the doctor for the 
bottle and took a swallow from it. “ You see now, 
I have drank of it and am perfectly well, and expect 
to feel quite as well to-morrow.” 

The peasants were somewhat taken aback, looked 
at the schoolmaster askance, drew nearer to each 
other, and whispered together. 

“What do you think? What are you saying to 
each other ?” 

Barosch sighed, shook his head, twisted his broad, 
grinning mouth, and finally blurted out : 

“ Well, that is nothing wonderful — there’s no poi- 
son in the bottle now.” 

“ Why not ? It’s the same bottle, and what was in 
it before, is in it now ; that is to say, a little less.” 

“ Well, the poison was gone, the burgomaster got 
that when he drank from the bottle. The poison is 
the lightest, and floats on the surface.” 

“Floats on the surface !” shouted Peter, and the 
schoolmaster was beside himself with wrath and 
indignation. 

“Do you hear? do you hear that?” he cried, 
addressing the curate. The latter maintained his 
passive expression and his composure, and replied to 


164 


The Child of the Parish, 


Habrecht's appeal merely by a gesture of regret. 
The gendarme stood immovable and radiated heat, 
with a stern look on his face ; the doctor, on the 
(Jther hand, lost patience. He, of whom it was said 
that he was as chary of his words as if each one of 
them cost him a florin, broke out into a speech : 

O never-to-be-conquered and eternally triumphant 
stupidity ! ' The poison is the lightest and floats on 

the surface !’ There we have it, now we know it, 
let us stick to it ; no power on earth would convince 
us of the contrary, at any rate. And if God himself 
were to come down from heaven and take the 
trouble to prove and disprove, he would have made 
the journey in vain 

The peasants heard his accusation without know- 
ing exactly what to make of it ; but Pavel listened to 
it with increased delight. The doctor was amazed 
at the comprehension which shone, triumphant and 
joyful from the boy’s eyes, as they were fixed upon 
him. The latter, for the first time in his life, held 
his head proudly erect, imbibing every word spoken 
by the doctor, as it were, like a delicious draught, 
and when the last one had been uttered, he burst 
into a wild, defiant laugh. 

At this the general indignation broke out against 
him. For a short time Kohautek could do nothing 
to protect him ; in spite of his desperate resistance 


Pavel Accused, 


165 

Pavel was thrown to the ground, maltreated, tram- 
pled on. The gendarme was obliged to exert his 
whole authority, and Anton, who placed him- 
self beside him, the whole strength of his fists, to 
rescue the lad from the outbursts of the senseless 
fury of his self-appointed judges. After a short, 
hasty consultation with the curate, the schoolmaster 
and the doctor, Kohautek resolved to take Pavel 
with him to the district court. 

“ I do not do it because I think him guilty,” he 
cried ; “ 1 do it because you are beasts, from whom 
1 want to protect him. Let some one get a 
wagon.” 

“1,” shouted Peter, “ Pll drive him over!” and 
with one bound he was out of the room. 

The curate cast a glance out of the window. In 
front of the house the villagers had formed groups, 
and were listening to the sounds which came from 
inside, repeating in the greatest excitement occa- 
sional words which it had been possible for them to 
distinguish. 

The commotion reached its highest point when 
Peter arrived with his light wagon and the gen- 
darme, with Pavel and the schoolmaster, who would 
not desert the lad on his dreary expedition, appeared 
in the door of the doctor’s house. Habrecht 
climbed to the front seat, beside Peter, the gen- 


The Child of the Parish. 


1 66 


darme with the delinquent occupied the back seat. 
Curses, as well as threatening looks and gestures, 
were sent after the wagon as it rolled away. Peter 
drove through the village so slowly that all the 
children of the streets had time to join and follow 
the vehicle. They did so amid shouts arid jeers. 

“ There he goes,” cried a voice from the troop ; 
“ there he goes,” was repeated in chorus. 

“ Where are you going ?” shouted a little deformed 
imp, and a pretty cottager’s child, a small, blue- 
eyed girl, one of the merriest of the bold band at 
whose head Pavel used to go to the forest to steal 
wood, looked up at him laughingly, and said : “ Are 
you going to your father or to 3^our mother.?” 

This watchword, once given out, resounded 
through the air in countless repetitions ; the youth- 
ful persecutors grew wilder and wilder, and at last 
Peter, at the command of the gendarme, struck with 
his whip at the band, intoxicated as they were with 
malice and delight in tormenting. They seemed to 
disperse, but only took a shorter route, and posted 
themselves behind a statue of St. John, which stood 
among trees at the end of the village. When the 
wagon reached the place, it was received with loud 
halloos and a shower of clods and stones. Kohautek 
swore, Peter whipped up the horses, Habrecht 
turned up the collar of his coat, Pavel gat motion- 


Pavel Accused. 


167 


less. It was only when the vehicle was out of range 
of even its most persevering pursuers, that he 
stooped and calmly threw out the stones which had 
fallen into the wagon ; all but the last, the smallest. 
This he looked at attentively, and then put it in his 
pocket. 

‘‘What are you going to do with that stone?” 
asked the gendarme. 

“ When I build me a house — and I mean to build 
one,” was the answer, “ I shall put that stone under 
the threshold of the door, so that I can remember, 
whenever I go in and out, how people have treated 
me.” 

An hour later the party had reached their des- 
tination. The district-judge ordered Pavel to be 
brought before him, and seemed more inclined to 
believe in his guilt than in his innocence, “for,” he 
was in the habit of remarking, “ as far as 1 am con- 
cerned, my opinion of people in general is not 
merely that they are bad, but that they are unutter- 
ably vile.” 

Justice took its course. An autopsy of the burgo- 
master’s corpse was appointed. In the absence of 
the official chemist, his substitute, a very self-confi- 
dent young man, conducted the necessary analysis in 
a very elegant manner, and roundly confirmed the 
presence of poison in the stomach and the intestines 


The Child of the Pa^Tsh, 


1 68 

of the deceased. The result of this was a succes- 
sion of evil days for Pavel, but he remained firm, 
and behaved before the official judge exactly as he 
had done at the examination at home in the village. 
His sufferings came to an end with the return of the 
chemist employed by the court, who subjected the 
work of his green rival to an examination, demon- 
strated its inaccuracy, and in concert with the offic- 
ial surgeon, proved to the district-physician incon- 
trovertibly that the burgomaster did not die of 
poison, but of his ailment. 

Almost immediately after, Pavel was acquitted 
and discharged. Peter, his chief accuser, was con- 
demned to pay the costs. 

On the last Sunday which Pavel spent in jail, 
Habrecht obtained permission to visit him. The 
master was deeply moved at their meeting. 

Two months in jail !” he cried, “ this is what you 
have come to, you, your own enemy. Pavel, Pavel, 
people have done you much harm, but not one of 
them as much as you have done yourself !” 

He asked him what he had thought about during 
his long, lonely days and nights. 

“ Nothing much ; at night I sleep, and in the day- 
time 1 work ; they have lent me some tools,** replied 
Pavel, and took out from under his bed the model 
of a house — his future dwelling-house, — which he 


Pavel Accused. 


169 


had represented very accurately in miniature, with 
windows, doors, and a thatched roof. It was a 
remarkable contrast, the boy with the coarse hands, 
and this delicate piece of work. He had made it for 
his sister Milada, and begged Habrecht to take it 
with him and send it to her; asking him, at the 
same time, to write to her ; he wanted his sister to 
know that he was innocent. Habrecht promised 
to do so, but did not mention that he had already 
addressed two voluminous letters to the Superior, 
in which the state of affairs was explained consci- 
entiously and with honest diffuseness, and Pavel 
appeared as pure as an Easter-lamb made of sugar. 
Both missives were, in point of form and contents, 
patterns of that courteousness which is ever suffic- 
ient unto itself, because it springs from an unappeas- 
able longing of the heart. Unfortunately, however, 
they had not incited their recipient to imitation ; 
Habrecht’s letters had remained unanswered. 


It was towards the end of January, the air was 
mild, the snow was beginning to melt, narrow 
brown brooks flowed down the slopes. The sun 
peeped dejectedly through the whitish clouds, the 
leafless trees along the road threw pale shadows on 
the muddy footpath, on the margin of which Pavel 
was walking towards the village. 


170 


The Child of the Parish, 


During his detention he had often thought that if 
he could only be free, in the open air, if he could 
only move about once more, all would be well. 
Now he was free, he was going home, and all was 
not well. Just as desolate, as bare, as joyless as the 
landscape in its wintry poverty, his future lay before 
him. 

In the village he went first of all to the herdsman’s 
hut. The hearth in the hall had been cleared. 
Vinska was kneeling before it and stirring the fire, 
which burned brightly and briskly. Silently, with- 
out looking at her, Pavel walked past her, straight 
into the room. Virgil and his wife screamed when 
he appeared ; the old woman covered her face with 
her apron, the herdsman held up a rosary before 
him, as one who would exorcise the devil, trembling 
all over the while ; but Pavel folded his arms and 
said : 

“ Rascals, both of you! 1 ’ve come back, and 1 ’ve 
got a paper in my pocket that shows that I ’ve been 
acquitted by the court. Now I advise you to let 
me stay at the schoolmaster’s and leave me alone, 
else you ’ll be sorry for it. My tongue has n’t 
grown to the roof of my mouth. That’s all I had to 
say to you,” he concluded, and then turned away 
and left the house. 


Pavel Accused, 


171 

They looked after him in bewilderment. How he 
had changed in those two months. He had gone 
away a boy, he had come back a youth ; he had 
grown taller, and at the same time no slimmer. 



CHAPTER XL 

PAVEL BUYS LAND. 

Outside the village, at the foot of a slope which, 
years ago, was covered by the parish-forest, long 
since cleared, there was a deserted sand-pit. Since 
it had been emptied of its contents to the last grain, 
it belonged to the dead capitals of the parish prop- 
erty, and no one ever thought of putting the barren 
piece of ground to any use ; for no one who would 
have begun to plough and to sow there, would ever 
live to see the harvest. Once only the steward of 
the Baroness, whose poorest fields adjoined the 
sand-pit, offered thirty florins for the bit of land, 
which was luxuriantly overgrown with weeds, but 
withdrew from the bargain again when it was about 
to be closed. Since that time no other purchaser 
had come forward. Great astonishment prevailed, 
therefore, when, at last, a new buyer presented him- 
self, who was no other than Pavel Holub. 

A year had passed since he had been discharged 
[172] 


Pavel Buys Laud, 


173 


from prison, and day after day, winter and summer, 
he had started out early in the morning and had 
returned home only as night was falling. Nothing 
could induce him to interrupt the uniformity of his 
mode of life, or to draw from him any expression of 
interest in the occurrences of the outer world. Of 
the marriage of Peter and Vinska, which was cele- 
brated very quietly, and gave even the most taciturn 
of the villagers much occasion for talk, he said not a 
word. On that day, as on every other, he went to 
Zbaro, where he always found work in the saw-mill, 
in the sugar refinery, or in the woods. He earned a 
good deal, and at the end of the week could place 
his wages undiminished in the savings-bank under 
the floor in Habrecht’s room, as the latter supplied 
him with food and clothes. He watched the increase 
of his treasure with delight, and, altogether, would 
have been quite contented — on two conditions. 
The first was a meeting with his sister, the second, 
deliverance from the mockery of the village chil- 
dren. But neither was fulfilled. Whenever he 
showed himself at the convent door, he was turned 
away relentlessly, and no matter how early he 
started for Zbaro, there were always some boys and 
girls who had risen earlier still, in order to watch 
for him, and call out to him through a crack in the 
door, or from behind a hedge : 


174 


The Child of the Parish. 


“ Poisoner! You ’re nothing but a poisoner, after 
all 1” 

For a long time Pavel was silent, but at last, full 
of bitterness, he gave vent to his annoyance to the 
master. 

Well, well I” replied the latter, “ now ypu are 
vexed ; how long ago is it that you cared for ij/othing 
more than to have people think ill of you j 

Pavel turned red. “ There’s such a thing as hav- 
ing enough of it,” he remarked, and flabrecht 
answered : I should think so. I’f a fellow has 

brought a thrashing upon himself, and /braves it 
out at first and says : * go on,’ he ’ll get Enough at 
last, too, and then he says: ‘stop!’ But it’s just 
then that those who are thrashing hip take the 
greatest pleasure in the job. How was it with me, 
and how long is it since I laughed yhen people 
came to me and begged me to use my arts to pro- 
tect their fields against hail, or their barns against 
lightning ? And I felt flattered ! Oh, iny dear boy ! 
and to-day I would like to fall upon the neck of any 
donkey who thinks nothing more ab)ut me than 
that I am as stupid as he is himself !” 

At the tavern, in the meantime, the peasants were 
consulting about selling the sand-pit to Pavel. 
Anton, the blacksmith, being asked jiis opinion on 
the matter, announced himself in fav^r of the sale. 


Pavel Buys Land. 


ns 


The official declaration of innocence which Pavel 
hadreceived had made an impression upon him, and 
the decision of the experts had confirmed him in the 
doubts which he had entertained from the beginning 
as to the lightness of poisons. His advice was: 
“ Sell ilie sand-pit to the lad ; he has r^oney, let him 
pay.” 

This proposal was accepted. 

Pavel was pronounced of age, and obtained the 
sand-pit it a high price, after he had been given to 
understaid that the parish, which had supported 
him for tie past seven years, could not be expected 
to make hm a present of anything. 

As for hm, he did not consider his property too 
dearly boight. He thought the sum very small 
which had vorked a miracle and made him, — the 
beggar, the child of the parish, — an owner of real 
estate. His patron and he concluded the day 
on which tht contract was signed in the most solemn 
manner. 

Habrecht lit a candle in addition to the little 
lamp. Pave spread his treasures out before him : 
the certificae of the court, the bill of sale, the 
remainder oi his savings, and Milada’s little bag, 
with its conteits still untouched. The money was 
counted, and m estimate made of the expenses of 
building the h)use. About the bricks there was no 


The' Child of the Parish. 


1 76 


difficulty ; Pavel was to make them, with the 
master’s permission, in the field of the latter, and 
clay was to be found in great plenty in the neigh- 
borhood. On the other hand, the necessary timber 
would be hard to procure ; the funds on hard did 
not suffice for that, and the requisite sum could 
hardly be accumulated before the following ffitumn. 
Fortunately, the frame-work of the roof \^6uld be 
the last thing to be considered. Pavel’s most im 
mediate care was directed to the levelliig of his 
ground and the raising of his four walls. Enough 
for the beginning, enough for one wh^, for the 
management of his affairs, has only thl time left 
over from his work in the service of oth/rs. 

When all this^ was satisfactorily ar/anged, the 
young fellow got out his writing-mAerials, and, 
amid heavy sighs and with greater exertions then 
the felling of a tree would have cost him, indited 
the following letter: 


Milada, 

my darling sister I have been to ^e you three 
times but the nuns would notallow it ne master has 
written you about it. Milada I have bought the 
sandpit where I am going to build tlW house for me 
and mother, ask the baroness to let/me go to you 
because I am innocent and have go/ a paper from 
the court that they can’t punish me j have got new 


Pavel Buys Land. 


177 


clothes too and I don’t want to be a farm servant in 
the convent now because I have got the sandpit. 
So the nuns ought to let me see you. 

Pavel also wrote to his mother the same evening, 
and told her that when her time in the penitentiary 
was out, she would find a home with him. 

From his mother he soon received a letter full of 
love, gratitude and longing. Milada’s answer was 
long delayed, and when it came, it brought with it a 
bitter disappointment. 

Dear Pavel : I have always known that you were 
innocent — his sister wrote — and have rejoiced and 
thanked God that He held you worthy to suffer inno- 
cently, after the pattern of our sweet Saviour. And 
now I must tell you something, dear Pavel. I have not 
seen you for a long time, but that was only obedi- 
ence, and not a voluntary sacrifice, and has not been 
imputed to me for righteousness by my Redeemer. 
Now, however, the Reverend Mother Superior has 
given her permission that you may come and see 
me, and now only I can make a voluntary sacrifice. 
I do so, Pavel, and I beg of you, dear Pavel, do not 
come to me, wait another year, wait without mur- 
muring, for only a sacrifice which we cheerfully lay 
at the foot of the cross is acceptable to God and is 
imputed by Him to them for whom we make it. 
Let us renounce cheerfully, you know that we do it 
for the souls at our parents, who have no other 


178 


The Child of the Parish. 



intercessors with their eternal judge than us. Do 
not come, therefore. But even if you did come, 
dear, dear Pavel, it would be in vain — you would 
not see me, I should ask the good nuns to hide me 
from you, you would have to go away again with- 
out having seen me, and would only have made my 
heart indescribably heavy, for 1 love you, dearest 
Pavel, more, I am sure, than you love yourself. 

“Well, what does your sister write?” asked 
Habrecht, who saw the lad staring, with an expres- 
sion of dismay, at the letter, the fine, regular writing 
of which he had slowly deciphered. Pavel suddenly 
bowed his head, large tear-drops fell from his eyes. 

“ What does she write ?” repeated the master, but, 
on receiving no answer, did not ask again ; he 
already knew, by experience, that “ when that fellow 
wanted to conceal anything, there was no power on 
earth which could wrest his secret from him.” 

When Spring came, Pavel, in a succession of 
moonlight nights, made the bricks for his house. 
More than once he found his work destroyed when 
he returned from Zbaro at night. Little feet 
had run over the bricks while they were still soft, 
and had rendered them useless. Pavel watched for 
the delinquents, caught them, and took them to the 
curate. They received an admonition, which, how- 
ever, had no effect ; the mischief was repeated. 


Pavel Buys Land, 


179 


Then Pavel resolved to administer justice himself. 
Armed with a cudgel, he was about to post himself 
behind an old spreading walnut-tree, there await the 
enemy, who was advancing from the village, give 
him a sound thrashing, and send him home. To his 
utmost astonishment, however, he found the office 
of guard, which he was about to take upon himself, 
already supplied, and that by Virgil. He, too, had 
a stick in his hand. 

Pm on hand,’’ he said. I’ve driven away some 
of them already.” 

“ What do you want, you rascal ?” asked Pavel, 
harshly. “Away with you, you bad fellow. I’ll 
have nothing more to do with you !” And he raised 
his cudgel. 

Virgil had planted his stick on the ground, clasped 
his hands over it, and nearly bent himself double. 
Trembling and very humbly, he said : 

“ Pavlicek, don’t beat me, let me stand here. I’ve 
come here to look after your bricks.” 

“You? indeed, you’re just the one to look after 
anything, you ! I know 3"Ou ! Go to the devil !” 

“ Don’t speak of him,” whimpered the old man, 
beseechingly, and his knees shook, “ don’t speak of 
him, for God’s sake. I am old, Pavlicek, I am sure 
to die soon, you shouldn’t say to me : ^ Go to the 
devil r" 


The Child of the Parish, 


i8o 

“ It’s all the same whether I say it or not, and all 
the same whether you go or not, if you don’t go of 
your own accord, he’ll come and fetch you.” 

Virgil began to weep. “ My old woman is going 
to die soon, too, and she’s afraid. She wants to see 
you before she dies. And it was she who said to 
me : * Go and look after his bricks.’ ” 

Pavel examined him silently and attentively. How 
he looked, how strangely ! quite shriveled and thin, 
trembling with cold in his thin clothes, and at the 
same time his face of the color of fire, like a red 
lamp, in which a burning wick is swimming. The 
oil which nourished this wretched existence was 
liquor; the only comfort which refreshed it, a 
thoughtless lip-prayer. 

“ Poor rogue,” thought Pavel ; “ the times are 
gone, when you abused me — now you cringe before 
me. Stay then,” he said, hesitatingly, and still full 
of suspicion, “ 1 shall see what sort of a watchman 
you make.” 

When he returned, he found everything in order. 
Virgil really kept watch faithfully, asking neither 
praise nor wages, and only inquired again and 
again : “ Won’t you come and see the old woman?” 

Pavel sent word to her that as far as he was con- 
cerned she might die in peace, but that he did not 
wish to go and see her. The chief cause of his 


Pavel Buys Land. i8i 

refusal was the fear of meeting Vinska at her 
mother’s and then not being able to evade her 
there, as he did scrupulously since she had become 
Peter’s wife. And as he averted his eyes whenever 
he met her, as he closed his ears as far as possible 
to every intelligence of her, so he even drove away 
every thought of her that forced itself involuntarily 
upon him. 

She had attained the object of her wishes, and he 
had helped her reach it ; now all was over between 
them. What was it that still pained him, against 
his will, stronger than his own strength ? what was 
it that tortured him at the sight of her? He folded 
his arms over his heart, and muttered, with an oath : 
“ Stop throbbing !” But his heart did throb, never- 
theless, when, handsomer than ever, she passed him 
on foot or in the light wagon in which, a year and 
a-half ago, Peter had taken him to court. She 
tried her best to look happy ; it was hardly prob- 
able that she was so. Peter was a despotic 
and miserly husband, who had disappointed all 
Virgilova’s expectations. His wife’s parents were 
not allowed to come to his house, and what little 
Vinska could do to better their condition, was done 
in secret with fear and trembling. 

Vinska herself lived in affluence, had celebrated, 
with much display, the christening of her second 


i 82 


The Child of the Parish. 


child, but the latter, like the first, born soon after the 
wedding, had died when only a few weeks old, and 
it was said in the village already that she would 
never be able to raise a child. 

Pavel happened to be passing the house just as 
the little coffin was being carried out of the door 
very quietly and almost as if it were something to 
be ashamed of. And from the room inside there 
came the sound of sobs, sobs that cut him to the 
heart, and reminded him of the hour when she who 
uttered them lay on his bosom, and had importuned 
him with her entreaties and intoxicated him with 
her caresses. 

Virgilova lived to see the death of her second 
grandchild, but shortly after her last hour came, 
preceded by a hard and terrible struggle. 

She would not let the curate leave her bedside, 
but begged for prayers and blessings even at her 
last gasp; as her eyes grew dim, she asked the 
question : “ Have my sins been forgiven ?” 

Pavel received the news of her death with indiffer- 
ence, and remained unmoved by the lamentations 
which Virgil struck up at the death of his wife. 
All that he said to the widower in consolation was : 
“The old woman’s no great loss,” and Virgil inter- 
rupted the manifestations of his sorrow, fixed his 


Pavel Buys Land, 


183 


winking eyes upon Pavel, and asked, half con- 
vinced : Do you think so ?” 

This took place at the end of the summer, and on 
the first Sunday after the event, the curate sent for 
Pavel to come to him. 

It was after the benediction ; the curate sat in 
his garden on the bench under his fine pear-tree, 
whose fruits were already assuming a golden tinge, 
absorbed in the reading of a newspaper. Pavel had 
been standing before him quite a while, without 
venturing to address the reverend gentleman, 
before the latter raised his small, pale face, over- 
shadowed by his broad-brimmed straw hat, and 
said, after some hesitation: “You have been 
wronged.’^ His eye glanced past Pavel and was 
fixed upon some point in the distance : “ You are 
not to blame for the death of the burgomaster.” 

“ Of course not,” replied Pavel, “ but, nevertheless, 
the children still run after me and shout after me ; 

‘ Poisoner !’ 1 would entreat your Reverence to for- 
bid their calling me poisoner.” 

“ Do you suppose they do it with my permission ?” 
asked the curate, in an irritated voice. 

“ And the grown people,” Pavel continued, “ are 
just the same. Three times I have planted small fir- 
trees on my land, — nothing else will grow there. 
Three times they have torn them up again. They 


184 


The Child of the Parish, 


say : ^ Your house ought to have nothing around it ; 
it ought to be so that people can look into it from 
all sides, and see what you are about !’ ” 

The curate cleared his throat : “ Hem, hem, that is 
because you have so bad a reputation. You must 
endeavor to improve your reputation.” 

Pavel muttered : “ I have my certificate from the 
court.” 

“ That is of no use if people don’t believe in it,” 
said the curate. “ Faith is the chief thing, in great 
things as well as in small ones. For your eternal 
salvation you need to have faith in God, for your 
welfare here on earth it is necessary that others 
should have faith in you.” 

“ That would be well, to be sure !” 

“You mean it would be well if you could win that 
faith. Is not that what you wish to say?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then try to do so. You have already entered 
upon a better path, and should now endeavor to 
progress in it. But you will hardly be able to do so 
without a support, you will need that some time 
longer. Until now, you could lean on the school- 
master ; but you will not be able to do so much 
longer.” 

“ Why ? Why not? Why not much longer ?” 


Pavel Buys Land, 


185 


“ Because he is going to be transferred to another 
school.” 

Transferred !” cried Pavel, in dismay. 

“ Probably.” 

For a moment the curate looked firmly into his 
face, and then said : More than probabl3^ cer- 

tainly. Make up your mind to it, and consider to 
whom you can apply when the master is gone, to 
whom you can say, in that case : ‘ I beg of you, be 

my friend and advisor.' ” 

After a pause, during which Pavel stood as if 
annihilated, the curate continued, sincerely attempt- 
ing to force himself to feel at least the interest of a 
pastor in the clumsy youth, who was wholly repug- 
nant to him : Consider well, is there no one in 
whom you could feel enough confidence to speak 
thus to him ?” 

He was obliged to repeat the question before it 
was answered, and then the reply was so decided a 
“ No one,” that the curate did not, for the moment, 
undertake to shake this firm conviction. 

“ Indeed,” he said, “ no one ! That is bad. But you 
had better reflect on the matter a little ; you may 
think of some one yet.” He leaned back against the 
tree again, gazed off into the distance, and con- 
cluded : ‘‘You can go home now, and you can tell 


86 


The Child of the Parish. 


the master that I shall probably call on him towards 
evening.” 

Pavel withdrew, confused, half-stunned. He felt 
as if he had received a blow on the head. At home 
he found the master sitting at the toble with his book 
before him, his face wearing the mingled expression 
of pain and delight, which it always assumed when 
he became absorbed in those beloved pages. Pavel 
sat down opposite him, and observed him most 
intently. For a long time he did not venture to dis- 
turb him ; but, finally, without intending to, and 
almost against his will, he broke out into the words: 

“ Master, what is this I hear about you?” 

Hardly had he uttered this reproachful question 
when he was seized with alarm at the effect which it 
produced. Habrecht grew ashy pale, his eyes 
became dim, his lower jaw fell and trembled, he 
tried in vain to speak and uttered only incoherent, 
stammering sounds. Gasping for breath, he waved 
his hands about in the air, and sank back in his arm- 
chair with heavy groans. Pavel, who had never seen 
a person die, and thought it was a much easier mat- 
ter than it is in reality, sprang from his chair, fell on 
his knees, and implored him, wringing his hands: 

“ Don’t die, master ; don’t die !” 

A faint smile stole over Habrecht’s face. “ Non- 
sense,” he said, “ there ’s no question of dying, but of 


Pavel Buys Land. 


187 


what you have heard about me. Confess !” he com- 
manded, raising himself up, and rolling his eyes 
terribly. “How was it? what was the nonsense? 
cursed nonsense! No sensible person believes it, 
and yet it lives on faith, and rolls on and on in the 
darkness, in the depths. They tell it off on their 
fingers, and those who do not, count it. What 
have you heard ? tell me !” He raised Pavel from 
the floor and shook him, but when the disconcerted 
youth was about to speak, he pressed his hand on 
his lips, and told him to be silent. 

“ What would you have to tell me ? Nothing 
but what I have heard often enough to disgust me, 
to rob me of my sleep. Be quiet !” he cried. “ I am 
going to speak out for once, miserable liarthat I am. 
I am going to tell the truth ; I, poor publican that I 
am, will tell it to you, another poor publican. Sit 
down, listen to me, bow your head. Even though 
it is but a miserable story, and the story of a deplor- 
able folly, it is sacred, nevertheless, for it is true.” 

He went to the water-pitcher, took several long 
draughts, and then began, hastily, and in a low tone, 
to tell Pavel about the days when he was young, the 
son of a teacher, and the assistant of his sickly father, 
destined, by capacity and circumstance, by every- 
thing that was natural and reasonable, to be some 
day what the latter had been, In his heart, however, 


i88 


The Child of the Parish, 


ambition was seething, vanity was spurring him on, 
these evil advisors turned his longing away from 
the easily-accessible goal, and held up to him a 
loftier aim as the only one worth striving for : the 
future of a great professor in a great city. This was 
what he dreamt of for himself, and his weak father 
for him, and this shadowy phantom of the future 
lived on and was nourished by the flesh and blood 
of reality, the strength, the health, the sleep of youth. 
How long can a candle burn that is lit at both ends? 
No one can be two persons at once with impunity — 
a teacher by day and a student by night. Still 
young as the first, but quite old as the second ; for 
the time of which he could only use one half for his 
object, flew away with fearful rapidity. One morn- 
ing he fell down unconscious at the door of the 
school-room. He still heard, as from a distance, a 
trembling cry of grief, saw, as through a mist, a 
beloved old face bending over him, then all was 
silence and darkness, and a soothing feeling of deep 
heavy repose came over him. 

A long time passed ; Habrecht lay ill, at first in 
wild, feverish dreams, then in a dull stupor. He was 
thought dead, laid in a coffin, and taken to the hall 
where dead bodies were deposited before burial. 
Here he awoke. His return to life only aroused 
horror ; no one was left to rejoice at it. His father 


Pavel Buys Land. 


189 


had died of fright and grief, and had been sleeping 
for some time under the green turf of the grave- 
yard, and far rather would he who had risen from 
the dead have lain down beside him, than take up 
the struggle of life anew, broken man that he was. 
It was out of the question that he should continue 
his studies. He applied for the position which his 
father had held. He obtained it, to the dissatisfac- 
tion of the inhabitants of the village. 

That one who has been dead three days should 
come to life again, is, in whatever light you look at 
it, most mysterious. Where was his soul during 
those three days ? From what awful realm did it 
return? The strangest rumors began to circulate; 
the fable of the schoolmaster’s sojourn in limbo was 
originated. And he let it pass. He was a poor, 
ruined man, who had feared hardly to be able to win 
the respect of the school-children, and who felt flat- 
tered when he observed that he inspired even adults 
with awe, and that it was but rarely that any one 
ventured to contradict him or act against his wishes. 
It was no longer possible for him to satisfy his 
worthy ambition : a false ambition took possession 
of him in its stead, and in order to appease it, he 
had recourse to ignoble means. He fostered the 
delusion which it would have been his duty to 
combat ; he, a teacher, a propagator of truth on 


190 


The Child of the Parish. 


earth, a fighter against error, upheld falsehood, 
stupidity, — the enemy. He was a silent traitor 
to his own cause; he sustained prejudice, because it 
served the interest of his vanity. 

The curate of his village, who saw through him, 
censured his course. His own conscience reproach- 
ed him for the wrong he was doing. He determined 
to do it no longer, he made the resolve, and thought 
he could easily carry it out. 

But, behold ! what did he discover ? The delusion 
which he had formerly sustained and now would 
have eradicated, cotdd no longer be eradicated. 
Neither in a short nor in a long time, neither with 
slight nor with much trouble. 

I threw a twig to folly,” he cried, “ and it made 
a cudgel of it, with which it thrashed me. I played 
with serpents, and when I saw that I was doing a 
foolhardy thing, and would have ceased, it was too 
late, and they had twined around me so that 1 could 
no longer extricate myself.” 

Driven by a tormenting restlessness, he began his 
wonted perambulations about the room. 

“ If I were only a sincere criminal, a murderer, 
even — an honest murderer, and not the mendacious 
creature that I am — yes, am ! for one can’t get rid 
of it. Deceit eats into a man, and governs him 


Pavel Buys Land, 


191 

against his will. It is terrible to want to be true, 
and no longer to be able to.” 

He stopped before Pavel, grasped both his arms, 
and shook him : “ You will have the same experience, 
if you do not change your ways. Change them ; you 
can yet do so.” 

“ What shall I do?” asked Pavel. 

Tell no lies, say nothing about yourself that you 
do not know to be true ; neither for good, for that is 
contemptible, nor for evil, for that is stupid. You 
make yourself the slave of every one whom you 
deceive, even though he be ten times worse and 
lower born than you. I know what you want to do: 
to show defiance, inspire fear. But wait till the day 
comes when you will want to reform, — it will come 
for you, too, it is dawning already — wait till you feel 
a horror of yourself.” 

“ Master,” Pavel interrupted him, “ calm yourself, 
some one is knocking.” 

Habrecht started: “Knocking? — what? — who? — 
Ah — your Reverence!” 

The curate had entered the room. “ 1 knocked 
three times,” he said, “ but you did not hear me, you 
were talking so loudly.” His shrewd, sharp eyes 
fixed themselves inquiringly upon the master, who 
was evidently disconcerted by his unexpected ap- 
pearance. 


192 


The Child of the Parish, 


“ Oh, your Reverence, I am delighted — pray take 
a seat. Pavel, a chair,” stammered Habrecht, hast- 
ening to the table, against which he steadied his 
trembling legs, and over which he held, as if in pro- 
tection, his bent arms. With a self-betraying awk- 
wardness which would have been difficult to equal, 
he thus directed the attention of the priest to the 
object from which he wished, at any price, to divert 
it, to the book lying open before him. 

The curate approached the table from the other 
side, turned to the title-page before Habrecht could 
prevent it, and from his position, wdthout turning 
the book, he read, with dismay, with loathing and 
with sorrow : “ Titi Lucretii Cari: De reruni naturaT 

He snatched his hand away, rubbed it off violently 
on his coat, and cried : ‘‘ Lucretius ! Oh, my dear 
Habrecht! Oh I” 

And Habrecht, struggling in an agony of soul, 
slowl}^ painfully, collected himself — for a lie. “ An 
accident,” he stammered, the book was accidentally 
left over — from the time of my philological studies, 
and turned up again only recently.” 

“ 1 hope so, I wish it may be so, else I should have 
to pity you,” replied the curate, still keeping him 
under the spell of his eye. 

“ And you would be right, you who have a heaven. 


Pavel Buys Land. 


193 


and can promise it to any one who comes to you for 
consolation,” Habrecht broke out. 

And when the priest had left him, he took the well- 
thumbed volume, caressed it like a living thing, and 
hid it in his bosom — a friend whom he ever enjoyed 
with new delight, and yet ever denied. 



CHAPTER Xll. 

BUILDING A HOUSE. 

Pavel proceeded diligently with the building of 
his house, and it was finished, in spite of all the 
obstacles which were invented by mischief and 
malice in order to hinder the builder in the com- 
pletion of the modest structure. There it stood at 
last, thatched with moss and straw, very low and 
very slanting. Poverty peeped out of the three 
small windows, and whoever was able to decipher 
invisible inscriptions, could read over the narrow 
door, hung on rough hinges : “ By me poverty * 
enters in.” The cabin was an object of derision for 
everyone who passed it. Pavel, however, did not 
suffer anything to spoil his pleasure in his little 
house, but proceeded cheerfully to its interior 
arrangement. He had built a hearth and purchased 
a modest supply of boards. In order to examine the 
latter with him, the school-master came to see him 
one day. They consulted on the subject, turned 
[194] 


Biiildmg a Hoitse. 


195 


every board around at least ten times, and deliber- 
ated how it could be put to the best use. Suddenly 
Pavel lifted his head and listened. The sound of a 
vehicle rolling heavily up the hill was heard. 

“ The Baroness is coming this way,” cried Pavel, 

she has not seen my house yet ; I wonder what she 
will say when she sees that 1 have a house.” 

In fact, the old lady was not yet acquainted with 
Pavel’s structure. Her drives were generally taken 
in another direction. The bad, steep road through 
the village she passed over only once a year, when 
she paid a visit to her old pensioned forester, who 
lived higher up. This she was about to do to-da}^ 
and would have done oftener, if Matthias, the lackey, 
had not invariably had some good reason for advis- 
ing against the excursion to the forester’s house. 
The reason which furnished him with all these 
reasons was that he was subject to gout in his legs, 
was very averse to walking, and knew very well 
that at the end of the village, where the road 
became steeper, his mistress would say : “ Get 
down, Matthias, you are too fat, the poor horses 
can’t pull you.” 

When Pavel perceived the approach of the car- 
riage, Matthias had just been ordered down from 
the box, and was very much out of humor as he 
walked along behind the big calash, in whigh sat 


196 


TJie Child of the Parish. 


the Baroness, equally out of sorts. She was vexed at 
the stooping shoulders of her coachman, and attrib- 
uted them to a want of respect, while they were only 
the result of burdening years. The mistress said 
aloud to herself: ‘‘ 1 wonder why people can’t sit 
straight now-a-days ! Such manners ! It’s a shame 
when any one don’t care a straw how he looks !” 
She herself sat up straight as an arrow, and 
stretched herself as much as she could in order to 
set a good example, which it must be said was of 
little use under existing circumstances. At the 
same time she looked about her with animation and 
curiosity, through the huge spectacles which she 
was in the habit of wearing during her drives. 
Arrived at the sand-pit, she perceived the new 
structure, and cried : 

“ Matthias, who has been building a stable there ? 
What stable is that?” 

Matthias hastened his steps, took off his hat, and 
answered : “ That is a cabin.” 

“Good gracious! Who has been building that 
for himself ?” 

Matthias smiled contemptuously : 

“ It was Pavel who built that ; that Holub fellow.” 

“ God save us ! does he build houses ?” 

“Yes,” continued Matthias, laying his hand on 
the carriage-door familiarly ; “ they say it’s for his 


Building a House, 


197 


mother, so that she’ll have some place to go to 
when she comes out of the penitentiary. It ’ll be a 
thieves’ den; it’s well that it stands so by itself, 
without any trees or bushes around it, and so far 
from the village.” 

During this conversation the carriage had arrived 
in front of the cabin, from which it was separated 
only by the grassy border of the road, and the nar- 
row space upon which Pavel had laid out his 
boards. 

The Baroness ordered the coachman to put on 
the brakes and stop. She leaned out of the carriage, 
and asked : 

“ What boards are these?” 

Habrecht approached the carriage and saluted the 
old lady. 

“ Ah, ” said the latter, “ you here ? lam glad, for 
I suppose you can tell me what boards these are ?” 

The}" are from the Manor saw-mill, your Grace.” 

“ And how did they get here ?” 

“ As the property of Pavel Holub, who has bought 
them.” 

“ Bought them ?” replied the Baroness ; “ that is 
hard to believe, that he should have bought any- 
thing.” 

Pavel, until then, had stood motionless behind the 
schoolmaster. At the old lady’s last words he 


198 


The Child of the Parish. 


started, turned, sprang into the cabin, and returned 
immediately, holding a sheet of paper in his hand, 
which, without a word, he handed to the Baroness. 

“ What is this ?” she asked, “ what is he giving me 
here ?” 

“The receipted bill for the boards,” replied 
Habrecht, to whom the question was addressed. 

“ Indeed ! So he makes purchases and pays bills? 
Where does he get the money for that ? I have 
heard that he stole a bag of money once.” 

“ An old story, your Grace, which was not even 
true when it was still new.” 

“ I know you always take his part. According 
to you, I am always wronging the bad fellow.” 

“ He is no longer bad. Those times are over ; your 
Grace may believe me.” 

“Why don’t he speak for himself? Why is he 
standing there like evil conscience personified ? 
Excuse yourself,” continued the old lady, addressing 
Pavel, “ say something, ask for something. If I had 
known that you were building a house and needed 
boards, I would have made you a present of them. 
Can’t you ask ? Is there nothing that you would like 
to ask me for?” 

At this Pavel raised his eyes to the old lady. 
Timidly, doubtingly, he looked at her. She no 
longer asked it he had a request to make, after those 


Building a House. 


T99 


sad eyes had gazed at her, and she had read in them 
so much mournful, inexpressibly deep longing. 

Well, what would you like? Speak out.’* 

Pavel hesitated a moment, collected himself, and 
said, with considerable distinctness and firmness: 

“ I would like to ask your Grace to write to my 
sister Milada; to let me go to see her.” 

The Baroness shook her head impatiently. “ I 
can’t do that. I can’t meddle with such things ; that 
is the nuns* affair. No one can go and see Milada 
at any time, whenever they feel like it. I can’t do it 
either. Milada no longer belongs to us now ; she 
belongs to Heaven. The fellow always says the 
same thing over and over again she went on, 
turning to Habrecht again. “ 1 can’t understand 
how you can say that he is changed. And now we 
’ll go on. Good-by ! Drive on, Jacob.” 

The carriage started, but had rolled only a short 
distance, when the Baroness again ordered the 
coachman to halt, beckoned to Habrecht, and 
asked : 

“ What about the new schoolmaster? Why does 
he not come? He was to have presented himself 
to-day.” 

“Your Grace will excuse me, to-morrow.” 

“ How to-morrow ? Is n’t to-day Wednesday ?” 

“Begging your pardon, to-day is Tuesday.” 


200 


The Child of the Parish, 


“Tuesday! well, that makes a difference. I was 
inclined to think that the young- man, who is prob- 
ably a learned boor, found it superfluous to make 
his bow to the lady of the manor. And when 
do you leave. Schoolmaster ?” 

“ Next week, your Grace.” 

“ It’s a pity, a great pit}^ that you must go. 
We’ll find no one that’s better than you,” said the 
Baroness, and then, with a gr^acious salute to Hab- 
recht, she drove on. 

When the master turned to Pavel, he was standing 
motionless, and scarlet in the face. 

“ Then it is true, after all,” he asked, swallowing 
with as much difficulty as if he were being strangled. 
“ You are going away ?” 

“ That is, I am being sent away,” replied Habrecht, 
hesitatingly ; “ 1 have been transferred'.” 

“ Far away ?” 

“ Rather far.” 

“ Have you known it long, master, that you had 
been transferred ?” 

“ Long— or not long— just as you look at it.” 

“ Why did you not tell me of it ?” 

“ What for— did you not hear of it, anyway ?” 

“ But 1 would n’t believe it ; I would n’t believe 
His Reverence, and the others still less. I thought 


Buildmg a House, 


201 


that if it were true, you would tell me of it your- 
self — ” he could not go on. 

The sight of Pavel’s sorrowful dismay cut his old 
friend to the heart, but he would not let him see it. 
“ Don’t grudge me my good fortune,” he suddenly 
exclaimed, after a few moments of silence ; “ only 
think, I shall be among nothing but strangers. If 
any one looks at me, I shall look back at him quite 
calmly, and never trouble myself to ask : ‘ What 
have you heard about me, what mysterious things 
do you think me capable of ?’ I shall command and 
enjoy the respect which 1 know how to win, the 
highest respect, for I shall be like an angel, like a 
saint, and even the worst of them will have to 
admit: ‘That schoolmaster is an excellent man!’ 
Thus it will be there ; while here — ” he pressed his 
hands against his temples, and gave a heart-breaking 
moan. “ An example,” he continued, “ I will give 
you an example to show you how it is here and how 
it will be there. Imagine a large slate, white as 
snow, which I ought to have covered with fine, reg- 
ular characters, but instead, I once scribbled over 
the clean surface, and bedaubed it ; and now, when I 
want to do as I ought and trace handsome letters, I 
cannot do so at once — the nonsensical stuff that 
disfigures the slate must first be rubbed out. Oh, 
how hard, how impossible 1 And even when I 


202 


The Child of the Parish, 


think that it is effaced, and no trace of it left, it still 
re-appears beneath my carefully traced characters. 
Paler from year to year, indeed, perhaps — but what 
is the use ? On the other hand, my eye has grown 
more sensitive, and the impression remains the 
same. Do you understand me? That will all be 
different now. There in my new home the slate is 
clean, as it was here in the beginning, when it was 
intrusted to me. The slate is my reputation. Do 
you understand me or not ? Child of misfortune, I 
don’t believe you have understood a word that 
1 have said.” 

Pavel did not defend himself against this sus- 
picion ; he was occupied with other thoughts, and 
suddenly he cried : “ I know what I ’ll do — I ’ll go 
with you !” 

Don’t think of such a thing,” Habrecht blurted 
out, but in order to lessen the harshness of his 
repulse, he added, in explanation : “ What would 

become of your mother, if she did not find you here 
on her return ?” 

“ She can come after us if she wants to,” replied 
Pavel, pulling at his lips, as children are wont to 
do when embarrassed. And, as if he were a child, 
Habrecht admonished him to resign himself, to 
remain where he was, gave him reasons for it, and, 
when Pavel shook his head at everything, concluded 


Building a House. 


503 

impatiently : “ And, finally ! people would soon 

know where your mother had come from, and 
would ask : ‘ What followers are these whom the 

schoolmaster has brought to our village?’ That 
cannot be — you must see it yourself, you must listen 
to reason.” With this he turned away, and, wiping 
from his brow the perspiration which had gathered 
on it in spite of the cool autumn atmosphere, he 
hastily took refuge in flight, in order to escape any 
possible new propositions of Pavel’s. 

He need not have feared anything of the kind. 
The youth did not allude again to the approaching 
separation ; he only grew more quiet, more sad, but 
continued his industrious life, and did not seek his 
patron’s society oftener than at any other time. 

And Habrecht, with the selfishness of an invalid, 
who will not give heed to any care but that for his 
recovery, did not wish to know anything about the 
struggle which was hidden beneath Pavel’s appar- 
ent calmness, preferred to ignore a suffering which 
it was impossible for him to relieve. They must 
needs part ; better, then, that they should do so with- 
out any expressions of regret. 

Moreover, Habrecht almost forgot his protege in 
the annoyance caused him by his successor. 

That young gentleman, whose name was George 
Mladek, had arrived several days later than he had 


204 


The Child of the Parish. 


been looked for, had enjoyed the surprise which 
Habrecht expressed at this fact, and, when he found 
that he was expected to go to the castle and pay his 
respects to the Baroness, had answered : 

‘‘ With the greatest pleasure, if she is young and 
handsome! Otherwise, I have nothing to dcfwith 
baronesses, and nothing to seek in their castles.” 

“ But politeness requires — ” 

“ Not of every one — I, for instance, am without 
prejudices.” 

He rather piqued himself upon being as poor as 
Job and as proud as Diogenes, moved into the school- 
house at the head of one trunk, a cot-bed, a table 
and a chair, thought himself sufficiently provided 
for for the beginning, and declined with thanks 
his predecessor’s ready offer of sundry household 
articles. 

So Habrecht’s furniture was transferred to the hut 
in the sand-pit, briefl}^ christened by the popular 
mouth “ the pit-cabin,” and there produced quite a 
favorable effect, as well as much envious feeling. 
People found Habrecht’s generosity towards Pavel 
incomprehensible, and hardly pardonable. Mladek, 
however, had his own ideas with regard to the rela- 
tion between the two, and had no reason to conceal 
them from his “ colleague.” 

On the eve of the day fixed for Habrecht’s depart- 


BMildmg a Hotcse, 


205 


Lire, he went to see him, and found him in the school- 
room, where, standing at the window, he was looking 
out on the street in impatient expectation. When 
Mladek spoke to him, Habrecht turned round, and 
said : 

“ Oh, it’s you — I’m glad it’s you ; I was afraid it 
was someone else.’’ 

“ Who did you think it was ?” 

“ Well, I thought it was Pavel, you know. To 
tell the truth, I intend to leave to-day, and without 
saying good-bye, on the lad’s account. I rejoice at 
going away from here ; I cannot conceal it, and that 
hurts him. So I have taken leave of the curate and 
the Baroness, and mean to be off before Pavel comes 
home. I have ordered a wagon to meet me yonder, 
at the gate. It ought to be here by this time.’’ 

He hastened to the window again, and leaned far 
out of it. The wind played with his scanty hair, the 
thin strands of which flew in all directions about his 
head and his face, which looked so old, and harmon- 
ized so little with his youthfully slender and agile 
figure. He wore the black suit which his father 
had made for him for his last examination, and 
which, intended for a bodily increase of its possessor 
— which never took place — hung more and more 
loosely about his gaunt limbs in proportion as the 
cloth grew more threadbare and its folds softer. 


2o6 


The Child of the Parish. 


Mladek examined him through his sharp eye- 
glasses, and asked : 

“ How long have you been schoolmaster here?” 

“ Twenty-one years.” 

“ And after twenty-one years you decamp, as if 
you had stolen something? You deprive the 
children of the pleasure of a farewell celebration, 
and the gro'wn people of that of a banquet, and all 
that only not to see your Pavlicek in tears ? Strange ! 
Methinks thereby hangs a tale, my dear colleague. 
Eh ?” 

Habrecht turned pale beneath the inquisitorial 
look which was fixed upon him. 

“What tale ?” he asked, and his tongue seemed 
paralyzed. 

“ DonT be afraid of me. I can understand human 
failings,” replied Mladek, with superiority. “ Hon- 
estly, colleague, confess! Was your Pavlicek’s 
mother — who, by the way, is in the penitentiary at 
present, as 1 hear, — was she a handsome woman?” 

Habrecht did not at once grasp the meaning of 
this question ; but when it struck him, he laughed 
out loud, laughed more and more gaily, more and 
more heartily, and cried, in the happiest excitement : 
“Well — what an idea ! Oh, you clever fellow, you ! 
Oh, this is a joke. Good heavens, how shrewd you 
are!” He broke out into renewed laughter. The 


Building a House. 


207 


morbidly sensitive man, who was wounded to the 
depths of his soul by the slightest allusion to a sus- 
picion awakened by himself, felt as if purified by 
this entirely unfounded supposition. No praise, no 
flattery could have made him so happy as did his 
successor’s false and low inference. He did not 
observe that he gave offence by his merriment ; he 
became quite animated, and cried : “ I wish you 
were right ! It would be better for the lad. But 
you are not right, and his father really died on the 
gallows ; a misfortune for which the son is held 
accountable. He must be protected against stupid- 
ity and malice. I have done it ; do you do it, too? 
Promise me that you will.” 

Mladek nodded with a sourish-sweet expression in 
his face ; but inwardly he puffed himself up venom- 
ously, and thought : 

“ As a reward for your laughing at me on his 
account ! That ’s very likely !” 

In the meantime a wagon was heard slowly 
approaching. ‘‘ My vehicle !” said Habrecht, took 
up his valise, and, with Mladek’s help, lifted it to his 
shoulder. He refused any further assistance, and 
particularly Mladek’s company to the wagon, and 
hastened away, without casting back a single glance 
at the scene of his work for many years. No feeling 
of sadness arose in his breast at parting. Go on,” 


2o8 


The Child of the Parish, 


he called out to the peasant who was to drive him, 
as he returned his salute, “and if anyone asks you 
whom you’ve got in your wagon, just tell them : a 
bridegroom — you can safely say so, for many a man 
has gone to his wedding who was not as happy as 
1.” With this he climbed into the wagon, stretched 
himself at full length in the thickly piled-up straw 
which it contained, and jubilantly cried : Go 

ahead 


The villagers returned from the fields somewhat 
earlier than usual on that day ; they were in haste 
to make their preparations for the farewell festivi- 
ties in honor of the schoolmaster. The chimney of 
the tavern had been emitting smoke for some hours ; 
those who had anything to say in the matter went 
to look after the state of affairs in the kitchen ; 
others remained in the neighborhood, in order at least 
to inhale the good smell of cooking which began to fill 
the air roundabout. The boys assembled in swarms, 
and as they had to look forward to walking quietly 
for a good while in the procession the next day, they 
made up for it in advance, and were thrashing each 
other now without regard to order. In the houses 
and in front of them, the mothers were braiding red 
ribbons into the little girls’ hair, and in the stables the 
peasant-lads were doing the same with the manes of 


Building a House, 


209 


the horses. The result was a number of queues, 
stiff as wire, which produced on the heads of the 
girls, and the necks of horses, a very neat and well- 
kept effect. In a word, the preparations for the 
festival were in full progress, when the intelligence 
of Habrecht’s sudden departure was circulated. At 
first no one would believe it ; it was only when the 
peasant who had taken the schoolmaster to the rail- 
road-station returned, and brought his cordial fare- 
well greetings to the villagers, that they were 
obliged to cease doubting, willing or unwilling. 

There was only one, who, returning home from 
his day’s work, could not be shaken in his convic- 
tion that Habrecht was still there, must be there 
still. He vouchsafed no answer to those who 
mocked him for it, but ran to the school-house, and 
unceremoniously entered the school-room, where 
he found Mladek. Shortly and peremptorily he 
asked : “ Where is the master ?” 

Mladek, who was sitting at a table and writing, 
turned his head: “Here is the master,” he said, 
pointing to himself, “and nobody is to enter his 
room without knocking, remember that, you 
lubber.” 

Pavel stammered an excuse, and begged to be 
told where the former master was. 


2 lO 


The Child of the Parish, 


“ Decamped, and you had better decamp too,” 
was the answer. 

Pavel descended the stairs slowly, entered the 
school-room, stood there awhile, and waited ; and 
when he whom he expected did not come, he went 
into the little garden, in which he walked to and fro, 
watching, listening. Suddenly he struck his fore- 
head. Blockhead that he was, that he had not 
thought of that before ! It was to hini^ to his house 
that the master had gone, to say good-bye to him, 
to him alone ! Reviving with the hope so suddenly 
sprung up within him, he ran through the village 
to his cabin, and when he reached it, called out: 
“ Master !” 

No answer ; all silent here too ; and now Pavel 
comprehended that he sought his old patron in 
vain. 

In the middle of the room stood the table at 
which he had so often sat opposite to him, in front 
of it his thin-legged easy-chair, and against the wall 
his wardrobe, brown with age. The sight of all 
these effects cut Pavel to the soul, and roused him 
to anger. He flung the arm-chair into a corner, and 
gave the table a kick, which caused it to upset with 
a crash. What did he want with that stuff? What 
did he want with mementoes of him who had 
deserted him so faithlessly ?” 


Building a House, 


2 I I 


Gone, gone ! his only friend ! Gone, without 
even having said “ God bless you I” What sort of a 
man was he, that he could do that? Better a thou- 
sand times that he had died, so that Pavel could 
have wept beside his coffin, and thought : “ He loved 
you to the last.” But to glide away thus, like a 
shadow, that caused all his kindness and friendship 
to seem shadowy, too. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

THE FALL OF PETER. 

At harvest-time that same year, an important event 
look place. The parish carried out a project which 
had long been entertained by them ; they bought for 
their threshing-machine, hitherto worked by horse 
power, a steam-motor. It was fetched fronn the rail- 
" road-station, and entered the village drawn by six 
horses, and decorated with flowers. Proudl}^ the 
peasants strode along beside it, and not one of them 
allowed his pleasure in the valuable acquisition to 
be spoilt by the consideration that only the first in- 
stalment of the ten, in which it was to be paid for, 
had been handed over, and that it was for the present 
quite uncertain where the money for the remaining 
nine was to come from. 

Not far from Pavel’s cabin, on an eminence over- 
looking the village, stood the house of the newly- 
elected burgomaster. There it was that the steam- 
motor began its functions ; it puffed and snorted, and 
[ 212 ] 


The Fall of Peter. 


213 


the threshing-machine, having been connected with 
it, swallowed the sheaves furnished it, and spat out 
with a rapidity heretofore unknown the hulled grain 
and the broken straw. At first, crowds assembled 
to witness the pretty sight, but by degrees the inter- 
est of the majority in the endless monotony dwin- 
dled away, and there was only one in whom it 
remained undiminished, and he was one who hardly 
had a chance of ever employing the motor in his own 
service, namely, Pavel. He had got work in felling 
wood in the manor-forest, and every day, in going 
there, went out of his way a little, in order to enjoy 
the sight of the snorting monster, to which he gave 
himself up with silent wonder, until he was told to 
“ Get out.” “ If he could get the motor away by 
-staring at it, he’d do it,” remarked the burgomaster. 
Pavel went, but took the memory of the object of 
his admiration with him, and had a clearer idea of 
it in his head than the peasants who sat close by it 
on the bench by the barn, and supervised the work 
of the day-laborers. 

Well pleased, the owners of the grain which hap- 
pened to be undergoing the process of threshing 
looked on, and rejoiced when the industrious machine 
accomplished in a few days the work which would 
have kept them busy for months. Soon the question 
was raised among them whether a part of the great 


214 


The Child of the Parish. 


amount of time which they now had to spare, should 
not be devoted to the pastime of hunting, so ex- 
tremely attractive to the peasant. The next year 
their lease from the manor would expire, and theru 
they would consider well before they renewed it.. 
The matter was often discussed, and found only a 
few opponents in the parish, but among these there 
was one who was very influential and very decided, 
and that was Peter. From pure avarice, as his ene- 
mies asserted, he grudged the money for the hunt- 
ing-license, for powder and bullets. He did not deny 
this, and declared that he needed his money for 
“ something more sensible.” Then the mockers 
would regularly say, tauntingly, that he spent all 
his money in oats for his sorrels, so that they should 
pick up a little.” 

This always had the result of making Peter furious. 

He took great pride in a horse-breeding establish- 
ment, which his father had successfully carried on 
before him, and had lately gone to a prize exhibit 
tion of draft-horses with two sorrels, the sight of 
which, as he often boasted, “ would knock over the 
committee, and run all the other horses present into 
the ground.” Instead of that, he had come back 
angry, and full of abuse of the committee, which, as 
he said, was composed of nothing but asses. He 
was generally scoffed at in the village ; every one 


The Fall of Peter. 


215 


knew that the sorrels had been found too weak for 
draft-horses, and now Peter had set his mind on 
making them the strongest horses far and near, and 
was only watching for an opportunity to give a 
brilliant proof of his success. The wished-for 
moment seemed at last to have arrived. When the 
motor had done its duty by the burgomaster’s grain 
and that of his neighbors, it was to be removed to 
Peter’s farm, at the lower end of the village, and he 
had impatiently awaited the time when he could go 
and fetch it. On the day fixed, while the motor 
was still at work, he appeared, his face puffed out 
like a balloon, with his man behind him, leading the 
sorrels, all ready harnessed. 

“ What are going to do with those horses ?” 
asked the burgomaster ; “ why didn’t you bring 
a pair of strong oxen ? Those horses can’t hold 
back the machine going down the hill.” 

Barosch and Anton, who happened to be standing 
by, as well as several younger peasants and all the 
laborers, were of the same opinion. Even Pavel, 
who had been sent by the forester with a message 
to the burgomaster, took the liberty of opening his 
lips in the presence of the notables, and said : “ And 
the greatest harm may be done to the machine.” 

Peter transferred his short pipe from the left 
corner of his mouth to the right, and pushed his hat 


The Child of the Parish, 


216 


farther back on his head. “ Put the horses to the 
machine,” he commanded peremptorily, and took 
the reins off the sorrel’s backs. 

“ Wait,” cried the burgomaster. “ You’re not 
going to start like that ; you must have the fire put 
out first.” He opened the door of the coal-box, and 
Barosch approached with the poker, but Peter 
roared at him : 

“ Let it alone ! Just at it is, my horses will draw 
it,” and then he closed the door of the coal-box 
again vehemently, helped his servant attach the 
horses, and seized the reins and the whip. 

Get up !” — a loud click of the tongue ; the 
horses started, sprang to one side, sprang upward, 
and only after a second and third click they 
strained at the harness so that the traces creaked. 
The machine had moved. Peter shouted, his man 
swore ; the peasants and the laborers stood aston- 
ished, for actually — the sorrels drew the motor to 
the entrance of the yard. From here progress was 
easy ; the road descended gently, and widened as it 
turned into the village-street. On the latter the 
incline grew steeper. Pavel ran forward to lock the 
wheels, but Peter, completely intoxicated with 
pride and love of boasting, pushed him aside : 
“ There’s no need of that,” he cried ; “ I can do with- 
out the drag.” 


The Fall of Peter, 


217 


“ How foolish,” remarked Anton, because the 
road grew even steeper farther on ; but Peter 
answered, with a laugh, that he didn’t care, his 
horses would run all the more quickly, and then he 
boasted that he would take the machine into his 
yard on a trot. 

The announcement of this daring exploit gave 
rise to mockery and curiosity. But it would be 
great fun to watch such a feat. Anton alone dis- 
approved of the matter decidedly, crossed his hands 
with a gesture of regret, and said : “ He won’t 
listen to anything; he’ll see.” 

“ You will see, all of yoUy what my sorrels can do,” 
Peter retorted, as he walked along beside the 
horses with long steps, no longer shouting “get up,” 
however, but “whoa, whoa!” 

The horses bore up bravely against the enormous 
load which rattled along behind them and crowded 
upon them ; they fairly crept, with their back-bones 
drawn in, their heads high, their necks stiff, their 
collars pushed up to their jaws. Peter clung to the 
reins as firmly as he could. 

“Don’t let them get into a run, for God’s sake,” 
his man called out to him across the horses, and he 
did not reply ; he was frightened enough by this 
time at the thought of his boast about the trot. 
Only a few steps more, and then they would come 


2 i 8 The Child of the Parish, 


to the first water-drain which crossed the road ; 
this he was hoping for, it would hold the heavy 
monster back for a moment, and the sorrels would 
be able to take breath. 

“ Whoa, whoa!” a jerk; the front wheels roll into 
the depression, but out again immediately, and at 
the same time the door of the coal-box, so carelessly 
closed by Peter, flew open, and the contents of the 
latter falls out upon the haunches, the hind-legs of 
the horses. They act as if mad. No wonder! 

“ Lock the wheels — put on the brake !” Peter now 
roared. It was far too late ; there was no possibility 
of holding back. The horses went down the hill at 
a galop ; the machine creaked and rattled, and Peter, 
entangled in the reins, half running and half being 
dragged, rushed on alongside. A howling troop 
followed him ; others stood as if rooted to the spot. 
Every one saw plainly what must happen the next 
moment. The steep road was crossed by another, 
deeper drain, and then led around the corner, past 
the fence of the tavern-garden and the opposite 
wall, which enclosed Peter’s farm, into the great 
gate, of which there was no longer any possibility of 
turning. As the horses were rushing along to the 
left, as the machine was leaning towards the left, 
just on the point of falling, there was nothing to 
look for but a crash in the ditch, and Peter — may 


The Fall of Peter. 


219 


God have mercy on his soul — he would be sent out 
of this world without absolution, he would be 
crushed between the fence and the machine. All 
knew it; all stared at the spot where the catas- 
trophe would take place ; some broke out into loud 
cries, some swore, others could not utter a sound ; 
each one had a different expression for his suspense, 
his fear; in some isolated cases, a loud horse-laugh 
was even heard. Nobody seemed to think that any- 
thing could be done to avert the accident. And as 
the people were all standing there, or running about 
and clasping their hands above their heads, they 
suddenly saw Pavel spring at the fence like a stone 
that had been thrown by a powerful hand, seize the 
corner-post, and shake it. A mystery, a miracle 
how the thought had come to him : “ Peter must be 
crushed between the fence and the machine ; if 
there were no fence, he would not be crushed ; 
therefore, away with the fence !” 

All happened at the same moment. The post 
gave way before the athletic force of the youth, 
sank down, pulled a part of the fence with it, and 
simultaneously the motor fell heavily on one side. 
Smoke arose, dust was stirred up, horses’ feet struck 
out into the air — men and women and bold children 
crowded around the spot. A few old women, who 
could neither see nor hear any trace of Peter, dis- 


220 


The Child of the Parish, 


puted as to whether both his legs or both his arms 
had been knocked off. “ I only hope that the ma- 
chine has had nothing knocked off,” said the new 
burgomaster, with a sigh, thus expressing the feel- 
ings of most of the men present. A lively anxiety 
concerning the common property was universally 
displayed, and with it, great indignation towards 
him who had so recklessly endangered it. 

Peter had been dragged from beneath the motor 
bleeding and badly cut, and set upon his feet ; but 
nobody paid any attention to him when he fell to the 
ground again ; and when he gasped, hoarsely : The 
horses, help them,” the general displeasure rose, and 
he narrowly escaped a drubbing. Pavel, however, 
thought to himself : “ If it had n’t been for me, all 
would be over with him now,” and he was seized 
with a sentimental feeling of self-approbation, and a 
kind of good-will towards his worst enemy. He 
approached him, and when he noticed that he was 
bleeding from the mouth, he took hold of him under 
his shoulders and dragged him a short distance, so 
that he could place his head on a slight elevation in 
the turf. Suddenly, however, and not very gently, 
he let him fall again; a piercing cry had struck his 
ear: “ Vinska !” flashed across his mind, “it’s the 
devil that’s sending her here now !” 

It was she. She had taken advantage of Peter’s 


The Fall of Peter, 


221 


absence to pay a visit to her father. Just as she left 
his cabin, she had heard the noise in the street and 
seen the people running towards her house from all 
directions. Seized with anxiety, she had taken a 
short cut through the village and the tavern-garden, 
and the first thing which she saw in the latter was 
her husband lying on the grass covered with blood, 
and Pavel bending over him — unharmed. 

A wild suspicion flashed up within her : “ Scoun- 
drel, this is your work !” she cried, clinched her 
fist, and gave Pavel, who looked up at her in silence 
and alarm, a blow in the face. 

At this, Anton checked the zeal with which he 
had been assisting in disentangling the horses from 
their traces, and said, calmly : “ You would do 
better to thank him than to abuse him ; if he had 
not lent a hand, you would have a husband as thin 
as a gingerbread-man now.” 

His remark called forth much hilarity. Vinska 
alone took no notice of it, and, altogether, knew 
nothing of what was going on around her. She had 
thrown herself on the ground beside Peter, and had 
burst into sobs. Pavel slowly rose from his knees. 
With fixed eyes he looked on as she fondled and 
kissed the wounded man ; cold chills ran over him 
while he listened, as she implored him not to die, 
and called the coarse fellow her darling, her joy, her 


222 


The Child of the Parish, 


life, her one and all. Passionately Pavel’s burning 
eyes were fixed upon her ; a white border appeared 
around his tightly-closed lips, and between his thick 
eyebrows and on his forehead thunder-clouds 
gathered, betokening a storm of gloomy and agoniz- 
ing thoughts. 

At last, with a violent wrench, he turned away 
from the spectacle which attracted him and yet 
tortured him, and went to give his aid in the raising 
of the motor. When, with great trouble, this had 
been accomplished, and Anton expressed the opinion 
that, “ the creature,” thank God, had not been 
injured, and could be put in operation again at once. 
Pavel shook his head, and said, pointing to the rod 
which moves the sliding-valve : “ I doubt whether 
it will work. Don’t you see that that little rod is 
bent?” 

The blacksmith also shook his head, contemptu- 
ously widened his mouth, which was surrounded by 
a scanty, dust-colored stubble-beard, and replied 
that if “ anything” was bent, he would “ see about 
it,” and if “anything” was wanting, he would “set 
it right.” 

Pavel now gave the burgomaster the forester’s 
message, — as yet undelivered, — and returned to the 
forest, where he fell upon his work like a lion upon 
his prey. Every time he lifted the axe, and brought 


TJie Fall of Peter, 


223 


it down whizzing through the air, it seemed as 
though he were collecting all his strength, and 
would spend it all on one blow. The professional 
woodcutters frequently interrupted their own work 
in order to watch that of this amateur with mocking 
malevolence. The leader of the “gang” in which 
Pavel had been enrolled, a coarse fellow named 
Hanusch, remarked to him: “Tear yourself to 
pieces if you like, but you won’t get a kreuzer 
more for your work than any of the rest of us.” 

He did not, however, create only dissatisfaction. 
At the end of the week, when he went to the for- 
ester with his companions to receive his pay, the 
former had some encouraging words for him, and 
told the keeper to keep his eye on “ that fellow who 
worked like mad,” and, at the first opportunity, to 
give him the preference before all the other day- 
laborers. 

Soon after this, on the first of September, St. 
Aegidius Day, the church in Soleschau celebrated 
its annual festival. 

Everything was as it always had been. The fair- 
booths stood in their accustomed places; the whole 
population of the village assembled on the meadow 
between the big elm and the parsonage-garden. 
The Baroness, who at other times humbly trotted 
and waddled to church on foot, on this occasion 


224 


The Child of the Parish. 


traversed the short distance between the castle and 
the church in her carriage, with the greatest 
elegance and display ; Jacob and Matthias on the 
box, reminding one of huge striped caterpillars, in 
blue coats with yellow bands down the back, with 
3^ellow waistcoats and facings, the fat white horses 
in heavy, silver-mounted harness. And, seated in 
the capacious barouche, the little, old half-blind 
woman, who bowed to right and left at a venture, 
who thanked many a lout, staring impudently into 
her face, with a pleasant nod, and left many a 
respectful salute unanswered, but who, arrived at 
the church, alighted, and got into a crowd, against 
which she bore up very bravely, as usual, — ever}^- 
thing as usual. 

She listened to every one who had a complaint or 
a request to make, she demurred at no kiss on 
her hand, however doubtful its source, no petitioner 
was turned away unheard ; if nothing else, he re- 
ceived a ready answer, and for those who desired 
nothing but to pay their respects, she had always 
some little joke, or a sympathizing inquiry, which, 
to be sure, was not always delivered at the right 
address ; she would ask an unmarried girl after her 
child, a young husband after his sweetheart, — but 
that did not matter, and only heightened the cheer- 
ful spirit of the assembly, which was allowed to 


The Fall of Peter, 


225 


manifest itself undisguisedly. The lady of the 
manor loved a jest, and forgave it, even if it was 
made at her expense, because she was conscious of 
being, in the main, esteemed by her people, — and 
herein lay her strength. She did not doubt that 
her people deceived her and stole from her, when- 
ever they had an opportunity, but she forgave them 
their dishonesty, too, because she was conscious of 
being loved by them, — and herein lay her weakness. 

The first bell sounded. The curate appeared at 
the church-door in a cloud of incense, surrounded 
by three assistants ; mass was read, as Jacob ex- 
pressed it from a coachman’s point of view, “four- 
in-hand ” on this occasion. 

“ Make way,” cried the Baroness, to the crowd, 
“ let me go to church, I must pray for you !” 

“ We’ll do it for your Grace, it’s our duty, your 
Grace,” said the people, and made room for her, 
and the old lady approached the curate, who offered 
her the holy-water, crossed herself devoutly, and 
disappeared in her oratory. 

Everything is as it always has been. The only 
unusual feature is the beauty of the weather, at 
which even the most crabbed weather-prophet 
could not have taken exception. A green autumn 
had succeeded the damp summer— a sunny autumn, 
which admitted of bringing in the rich harvest 


226 


The Child of the Pari^, 


slowly and , without interruption. All those who 
had money to spend were in excellent humor, which 
showed itself at the booths in a lively desire to buy ; 
men and women stood before them, examining the 
goods they offered, and haggling about them, leav- 
ing the conclusion of the bargain until after service. 

The second bell. High time even for the less 
devout to enter the church, already half-filled. The 
procession of church-goers grows denser, the men 
file past the parsonage-garden, against the fence of 
which Pavel is leaning, as was the case seven years 
ago. Then he was a neglected, ragged boy ; now 
we see him as a compact, strongly -built youth, who, 
in the matter of apparel, is distinguished from his 
companions only by the circumstance that his clothes 
set better and are better cared for than theirs. 

After the men came the women. Pavel felt it in 
every nerve, in every doop of blood — the women 
were coming. 

He leaned back against the fence, crossed his legs, 
and assumed an expression of indifference. What 
did he care for those who headed the procession, 
the girls ? He had nothing to do with any of them ; 
on the contrary, he felt more contempt for each one 
of them than they all together could muster for 
him, poor fools ! After the girls came the married 
women, the young ones first, and among them one — 


The Fall of Peter, 


227 


the one whose name he will never speak again, for 
whom he will be blind and dumb from now till his 
last hour. What he had done for her, he had never 
considered, never reflected upon ; he had just done 
it, mechanically, under an irresistible compulsion, 
without any clear consciousness, without a thought 
of any merit on his part or any obligation on hers. 

But the other day, in the tavern-garden, when she 
had accused and insulted him, the twilight suddenly 
vanished, and light and shade were sharply defined ; 
then he told himself all that he had done for her — 
things unheard of, monstrous — and she? Recounted 
up for the first time, and settled the account at once. 
All is over between him and her, she no longer 
exists for him. And yet he feels her approach ! 
Why does he feel it, if all is over ? He threw back 
his head and raised his eyes to the extreme top of 
the elm, and saw something up there which attract- 
ed his attention. In the midst of the green boughs, 
of the infinitude of leaves, a large dead branch, 
reaching up towards heaven. The sight went to 
his heart, as if he had discovered on the blooming 
body of one he loved some symptom of a grave 
disease. 

Such a splendid tree, and decayed at the top ! 

Pavel, Pavel, listen to me,'’ said a well-known 
voice, and he trembled ; he was afraid — of himself. 


228 


The Child of the Parish. 


Will it come over him again, that horrible feeling? 
will those fiery claws lay hold of him again, com- 
press his bosom, and rob him of breath ? 

Vinska repeated : “ Pavel, listento me ! I have 

wronged you, forgive me !” She said it sweetly, 
humbly ; she stood there and begged his pardon in 
the presence of all those who had come with her, 
and among whom no one watched the little scene 
with such interested attention as a slender, fair- 
haired girl, half a stranger in the place, who was so 
attractive in appearance that Pavel was struck with 
her even at this significant moment. “ 1 ought to 
know you,” he thought, and in fact, he soon remem- 
bered that he did know her ; her name was Slava, 
and it was she who, )xars ago, when he was being 
taken to court, had found the bitterest taunt for 
him, and had thrown the stone which now lay 
buried under his door-sill. She had not been seen 
in the village for years ; it was said that she was in 
service in the city, and now she had come home, and 
was as beautiful as the Madonna in the altar-paint- 
ing. Pavel looked alternately at her and at Vinska, 
and regarded the one as calmly as the other. O 
wonder, O joy, O victory! He has no occasion to 
envy any convalescent from a severe illness, any 
liberated prisoner. He is cured of the sickness of 


The Fall of Peter, 


229 


this love, he is rid of the fetters which he hated and 
could not strip off ; he is well, he is free ! 

“ Forgive me,” entreated Vinska anew, and he, 
with a composure which afforded him intense pleas- 
ure, replied : 

“ Let it be ; the times are over when anything of 
that kind would have troubled me.” 

She blushed, bit her lips, and went on towards the 
church. She carried away with her the humiliating 
feeling that she had been deprived of a power which 
she had considered it impossible to lose. The deli- 
cate fair-haired girl followed her. And Pavel set his 
arms a-kimbo, rocked his hips, and said to himself: 

“ Women, faugh, good for nothing but evil!” 



CHAPTER XIV. 

PAVEL’S TRIUMPH. 

Peter was improving daily ; he was allowed to 
talk again, and to eat whatever he liked ; only 
shouting and smoking were still forbidden. During 
his illness he had not ceased to be afraid, at first of 
dying, and then of the bill which the doctor would 
send him. When the latter ceased his visits, and 
the bill did not come at once, Peter sent for it, but 
only to give it an ignominious reception. He laid 
it on the table, sat down before it, and began to 
abuse item after item wrathfully. His wife crept 
around him full of anxiety, begging him timidly not 
to excite himself so, which only made him rail the 
more. And that on purpose, because he wanted 
to see whether the repairs which the old quack had 
made on him, and charged so enormously for, would 
at least hold out.” 

He had succeeded in working himself into a state 
of mind in which he temporarily lost the little sense 
[230] 


231 


PaveVs Triumph. 


which he possessed, and could hardly be held 
responsible, so that Vinska would have preferred to 
guard him against a meeting with outsiders, when 
there was a knock at the door, and the landlord of 
the tavern entered the room very inopportunely. 

He doffed his hat politely, and Vinska thought, at 
the first glance : He wants something, and some- 
thing that he has no right to.” 

Peter did not reply to the inquiry after his health, 
with which his visitor introduced himself, but, when 
the latter was seated, merely pushed the bill in front 
of him, snorted: “There!” and looked at him as- 
kance keenly and expectantly. 

The landlord became absorbed in the study of the 
document, and after a length of time which would 
have sufficed for learning it by rote, he said, enforc- 
ing his words with a slap on the paper : 

“ That is the doctor’s bill.” 

“ The doctor’s bill ; the rascal has overcharged 
me outrageously.” 

“I don’t see it,” replied the inn-keeper; “over- 
charge you, such save-all as you ? that can’t be done. 
The bills are all right, the doctor’s and ” — he smiled 
in some embarrassment, put his hand in his breast- 
pocket, and slowly pulled out a folded paper, which 
he held out to Peter, “ and mine, too.” 


232 


The Child of the Parish, 


Peter started back as if a firebrand had been held 
in his face, and shouted at the top of his voice : 

“ Your bill T What the devil could he make out 
a bill against him for ; he did n’t owe a kreuzer in 
the tavern, he never drank a drop that he did n’t pay 
for at once. 

“ Well,” the landlord replied, when he finally got 
a chance to speak, “ the question was not about 
drops, but about a fence, namely, the fence of his 
garden, which had been damaged at the time of the 
accident to the steam-motor.” 

This threw Peter into the utmost rage. What in 
the world did the fence concern him ? How could 
the host have the insolence to make him out a bill 
for the fence ? The breaking down of the fence 
was the cause of the whole trouble. It was done at 
the very moment when Peter had been on the point 
of getting control of the horses again ; he had it 
already, one tug, and they would have stood like 
walls, and would have made the turn into his gate 
like lambs. Of course, when a fence tumbles down 
just in front of their noses, such creatures will take 
fright, they are not cows. That was the way it 
happened. Peter swore to it solemnly, and he also 
swore that he would convince anyone who doubted 
it, by kicking him into the street. In his excitement 
he left the house, and went with the inn-keeper to 


Pavel's Triu7nph, 


233 


the corner of his garden, to demonstrate the occur- 
rence explicitly on the spot. 

His wife looked after him anxiously. For seven 
weeks he had not left his room, and now he had 
gone out for the first time on a windy October day 
in light house-attire, hot with anger, and panting 
with excitement. She could hear him shouting, 
across the street. When he had seen the fence, for 
the repairing of which he was expected to pay, he 
had given a jump as if mad. What did this mean ? 
A cheat, a rascally cheat ! The fence had been 
not merely set up again, but renewed. More than 
half of its rotten boards had been replaced by new 
ones. What? an old fence had fallen, and a new 
one risen up instead, and that at Peter’s expense ? 
He raved, he called on every passer-by to bear 
witness to the imposition which the inn-keeper 
wanted to make him the victim of. Before a rapidly 
increasing audience he told the story half a dozen 
times in succession, told it each time with new 
additions, which corroborated his assertion. That 
confounded “ boy,” who pulled down the fence, was 
to blame for everything, the shying of the horses, 
the fall of the steam-motor, the accident to Peter — 
the hero, who, even at the moment of urgent danger 
to his life, had remembered the saving of the parish- 
property, and, instead of springing aside, had, just 


234 


The Child of the Parish, 


at the last, given his horses a turn, a tug, which pre- 
vented the total ruin of the machine. At last he 
was so hoarse he croaked like a raven, and so 
exhausted that he could hardly stand. During the 
night he could not sleep for excitement, and in the 
morning he sent to the burgomaster, to the council- 
ors, and to some of his friends, asking them to come 
to the tavern, where he wished to consult with them 
upon a serious matter. They came, and he 
explained that he demanded his rights, and that if 
the parish would not give them to him, he would 
get them from the district-court, from the circuit- 
court, from the Emperor himself. 

The burgomaster heaved sigh upon sigh while 
Peter was speaking, smiled anxiously, looked plead- 
ingly at the councilors for support. He was the 
gentlest man in the place, very young for his office, 
and, being somewhat better educated than the 
majority of his equals in station, was rather helpless 
when brought in contact with their want of refine- 
ment. Well, what were Peter’s rights? he asked; 
and the latter, instead of answering, began to tell his 
story, which, since the day before, had grown even 
more remarkable, impossible, and redounding to his 
glory. The burgomaster shrugged his shoulders, 
the senior councilor went to sleep ; Anton made his 
most expressive gesture of regret. Some wags 


Pavel's Triumph. 


235 


undertook, in jest, to outvie Peter’s boasts, thus 
causing great merriment. He hesitated awhile 
whether to join in the laugh or get angry, but 
decided for the latter. 

“ Did I pull down the fence ?” he cried. 

“ No, no,” was the answer. 

“ Then I shall not pay for it.” 

No, no.” 

“ But who will do it then ?” whined the inn- 
keeper, whose fat cheeks were covered with big 
drops of sweat. 

“ As you have made out the bill, no one ; it is 
impudently high, in any case,” said Anton, and the 
burgomaster nodded to him gratefully. 

Barosch, however, who had just emptied his fifth 
glass of brandy, and would have been glad to get a 
sixth on credit, humbly bent his little round bullet- 
head to one side, and said : 

“ Why no one? Why not the one who pulled 
down the fence? Why not that boy ?” 

“ That boy ? that would — that might — ha, ha, the 
boy !” was repeated with chuckles, laughter, and 
mockery ; but, nevertheless, it was not difficult to 
see that the proposition had met with favor. 

Peter appropriated it at once, and claimed it as 
his property. That was the rights of which he had 
spoken, the satisfaction which was due him for the 


The Child of the Parish, 


236 

danger into which the boy had led him, for the self- 
sacrificing’ courage which he had displayed in saving 
the machine. 

The senior councilor had just waked up, and 
interposed peevishly : that the saving of the machine 
was a confounded humbug. In being saved, the 
motor had received a knock that it could not get 
over. Anton was repairing it all the time, and 
could n’t make it do. It panted as if it had consump- 
tion, and it’s whistle, which used to be so clear, was 
now like the mewing of a sick cat. Anton was of 
the opinion that that made no difference ; whistling 
and mewing amounted to about the same, but 
unfortunately he was forced to admit that the 
mechanical power of the machine was greatly dim- 
inished. 

This declaration was received with a general 
murmur of dissatisfaction. Peter alone took no 
notice of it, but pounded on the table with his fists, 
and cried : “ That boy must come here, and that boy 
must pay.” 

“ He must come here, certainly,” was heard on all 
sides, and the burgomaster, growing more and more 
impatient, the more powerless he felt to stem the 
current which public opinion had taken, said — only 
louder than was his wont on similar occasions : 

'‘He must? What must he do? Certainly not 


PaveVs Triumph, 


237 


that which you want of him,” and replying to the 
objections which were loudly raised, he concluded: 
“ He is not coming here, he will not come, he can- 
not come, because he and Arnost have been ordered 
out to their military duty, and have had to present 
themselves to-day.” 

This, of course, made a difference, and they would 
have to wait. 

Pavel returned, indeed, the next morning, but 
remained at home only twenty-four hours, and spoke 
only to two persons, the burgomaster and Anton. 
To the former he reported himself in company with 
Arnost ; they had both been so fortunate as to be 
detailed to the militia, but were obliged to enter at 
once. 

The second, whom he met accidentally, Anton, 
the blacksmith, complained to him of his trouble 
with the motor, and asked him to come with him to 
Peter’s yard, where it was still standing. At the 
first glance which Pavel cast upon it, he repeated 
what he had said before : 

“ Don’t you see that that rod is bent T 

Anton admitted it, but was of opinion that such a 
trifle did not matter much. 

“ It matters everything,” replied Pavel. “ That’s 
the reason it jerks so ; that’s the reason the slide 
does n’t work well, and how is the steam to enter as 


238 


The Child of the Parish. 


it ought ? At one time there is too much, at another 
too little.” 

He succeeded in convincing the blacksmith, and 
together they soon set the matter to rights. 

Peter did not show himself, but they heard him 
in the barn, coughing violently. 

“He has just ruined himself with shouting,” said 
Anton ; “ the doctor goes to see him again.” 

This intelligence was received as indifferently as 
it was given. Pavel went home, set his house in 
order, locked it up, and started almost cheerfully* 
for the place of his new vocation. The little that he 
had seen of military matters on the occasion of his 
presenting himself, had impressed him very favor- 
ably. 

The blacksmith received much praise for the suc- 
cessful repairing of the machine, but he seemed loth 
to accept it, and changed the subject whenever any 
one began to speak about the matter. He could 
not bring himself to acknowledge that he had 
needed Pavel’s help to discover the cause of the 
injury which the motor had received. 

During Pavel’s absence, the question as to who 
was to pay for the repairing of the broken fence, 
was brought before the parish-council. The inn- 
keeper did not cease to urge his claim, and finally 


Pavel V Tritimph, 


239 


succeeded in bringing about a settlement of the 
matter. A majority decided : 

“The boy is to pay ; that has been agreed upon 
already.” 

“ But what if he can’t pay?” objected the burgo- 
master. 

“Pooh! why can’t he? He’s got money, and if 
he has none, there is his house, that is worth a few 
florins, at any rate. The landlord can seize it if he 
likes.” 

And this decision was the final result of the dis- 
cussion, in spite of the annoyance which it caused 
the burgomaster. 

When Pavel returned, the inn-keeper at once 
went tosee him, told him what had been determined 
upon in his matter, and ended with the assurance 
that nothing could be altered in the affair, and that 
Pavel would be obliged to pay without demur. 

The latter opened his eyes wider and wider; he 
was boiling inwardly, although outwardly he seemed 
quite calm. Nevertheless, the fat little landlord 
began to feel quite uncomfortable at the sight of 
this calmness. 

“ Who decided that I should pay ?” asked Pavel. 

“ Well, the parish— the burgomaster, the peas- 
ants.” 

“ The burgomaster, the peasants,” repeated the 


240 


The Child of the Parish. 


youth, and advanced a step towards him, while the 
inn-keeper retreated several steps. 

“ You had better pay,” he said ; “ if you’ll pay now. 
I’ll take off the kreuzers — I’ll take off a florin and 
the kreuzers.” 

“Sit down and deduct the florin and the kreuzers 
from the bill now.” 

The landlord would gladly have raised objections, 
would have been very glad not to comply with this 
behest, but he did comply with it, and then inquired 
timidly : 

“ Will you pay now?” 

“ Not before I have spoken to the peasants. I 
shall come to the tavern on Sunday and speak to 
the peasants. What are you waiting for?” 

This question was put with a degree of emphasis 
which induced mine host not to stop to answer it in 
well-chosen words, but to reply to it at once by 
deed, and lose no more time in doing so than was 
necessary to reach the door, which he closed behind 
him in cautious haste. 

That evening he told his guest: “That fellow, 
since he’s been on military duty, has assumed a man- 
ner like a corporal. Any one who had no courage 
might be afraid of him ; and he’s coming here on 
Sunday, to the tavern, and is going to talk with the 
peasants.” 


Pavel 's Triumph. 


241 


The guests — among whom were Anton and 
Barosch — contradicted the assertion that courage 
was needed in order not to be afraid of Pavel, and 
Barosch expressed the opinion that the boy might 
have the intention of speaking to the peasants, but 
would hardly carry it out. “ Because,” he said, 
striking his hollow chest with unwonted self-esteem, 
“ because we do not care to be spoken to.” 

Altogether,” cried the landlord, “ he presumes 
entirely too much of late.” 

“ In what respect?” asked Anton, who had re- 
mained silent so far ; to which mine host replied : 

“ And we ought to make things plain to him once 
more.” 

“ What things ?” 

To this second question Anton no more received 
an answer than to the first ; no one had any to give. 
In spite of this, however, all agreed with the land- 
lord that “ the boy presumed too much, and that 
things’ ought to be made plain to him once 
more.” 

And then a small caricature of Rumor put a toy 
trumpet to its mouth, and flew about the village, 
going from house to house, and spread the intelli- 
gence that the child of the parish was coming to the 
tavern on Sunday, and would there call his foster- 
fathers to account, and they would give him his 


242 


The Child of the Parish, 


due ; they had made up their minds to it ; they were 
going to make ‘things” plain to him once more. 
What the mysterious things ” were, small Rumor 
did not betray, and thereby furnished the expected 
event with a peculiar charm. 

On Sunday the tavern was filled to overflowing ; 
but the burgomaster did not make his appearance 
and only the senior councilor was present, Peschek 
by name, an excellent man, who was quite energetic 
when he did not happen to be drowsy. Peter was 
accompanied by his numerous kindred. He looked 
badly, his clothes hung around him loosely, his 
voice was hoarse, and his breathing sounded like the 
noise of a saw in use. 

On a stool in the dark corner beside the stove 
crouched Virgil. The old fellow’s red face and his 
sparkling eyes fairly shone from out the shadow. 

Adjoining the large guest-room there was a small 
room with one window, in which stood the table for 
the gentry. The doctor and the forester had seated 
themselves at The latter, and had left the only 
entrance, the door into the adjoining room, open, as 
they too were not without curiosity as to the things 
that might be about to happen. They winked at 
each other when the host glided in, gracefully turn- 
ing out his feet, as he was wont to do whenever he 


PaveVs Triumph, 


243 


entered the gentry-room,” and whispered: “Here 
he is.” 

Pavel entered the guest-room, and, to the surprise 
of all assembled, Arnost accompanied him. Had 
the two become good friends during the short 
time of their military service? — both, indeed, had 
acquired quite a military air. Holding himself very 
erect, and without lifting his hat, Pavel approached 
the table at which the peasants were seated. He 
Ccyried in his hand a sheet of white paper which he 
slowly unfolded, went up to Peschek, held it before 
his eyes, and said : 

“ The landlord says the burgomaster and the 
peasants want me to pay this bill ; is that true ?” 

No sound was heard in answer. Peschek had not 
looked up at all, and Pavel’s voice was so sup- 
pressed by emotion that, in the confusion which 
reigned, the councilor could easily pretend not to 
have heard the question ; he knocked on the table 
dreamily with his empty glass, and called upon 
mine host to fill it. Pavel waited till this had been 
done, and then repeated his question word for word. 
For the second time Peschek paid no heed to him, 
and now Pavel laid his hand upon the councilor’s 
shoulder, and said firmly and menacingly : “ Answer 
me !” 

“ Dog!” came from the other end of the table. It 


244 


The Child of the Parish, 


was Peter who had spoken, and in his immediate 
neighborhood there arose a murmur of approbation. 
Pavel, however, pressed harder on Peschek’s shoul- 
der than he was aware of or intended to. 

“ Must I pay, 1 ask you, I ask the peasants, I ask 
him over there,” he cried, nodding at Peter. 

“ Yes, yes, yes,” they all shouted at him, amid a tor- 
rent of oaths. Peschek writhed and twisted himself ; 
his drowsiness had departed ; he had not felt so 
wide awake in a long time, and hardly ever so clear- 
sighted. 

“ Let go of me,” he said, looking up at Pavel, 
threateningly, while thinking inwardly : “ The fel- 
low is being wronged.” I cannot help you,” he 
continued; “ I could not if I wanted to. You will 
have to pay.” 

Pavel changed color and drew his hand away. 
“ Very well,” he said, bitterly, “very well, then.” 

Slowly, with a solemn gesture, he put his hand in 
his breast-pocket, pulled out a package, opened it 
deliberately, and took from it a ten-florin note, 
which, with the bill, he handed to the landlord, and 
said : “ Receipt the bill and give me the change.” 

A pause of astonishment ensued ; no one had 
expected that ; malice and disappointment divided 
the sway over the minds of those present ; the land- 
lord alone was in raptures. Having put the bank- 


Pavel Triumph. 


245 


note in his pocket, he promptly placed a florin on 
the table before Pavel. 

The latter took it, folded his arms, and cast a 
bold, challenging look over the whole company. 
“ There !” he said ; his voice was no longer veiled ; 
it sounded loud and powerful, and with real enjoy- 
ment he let it ring out these words : 

“ And now I want to tell the council and the 
peasants that they are a set of miserable scalawags, 
the whole of them !” 

A unanimous shout of indignation replied to this 
unheard-of insult, which the poorest, the lowest of 
the villagers had thrown in the face of the wealthy, 
“ the powers that be.” Those nearest to him fell 
upon him, and would have thrown him down, but 
for Arnost and Anton, who came to his aid. When, 
in the fearful tumult which ensued, the words: 
“ Ungrateful wretch !” uttered by Peter, fell upon 
Pavel’s ear, he reared up, and, with the motions of a 
swimmer, who divides with both arms the waves 
which are rushing upon him, warded off the crowd 
which was threatening him. 

“Ungrateful?” he thundered, and through the 
indignation with which he was burning and quiver- 
ing, there resounded a heart-moving plaint of long- 
endured pain : “ Ungrateful? And for what should 

I be grateful to you? For every grain of corn you 


246 


The Child of the Parish. 


have given me I have paid with my work. My 
schooling I got from the master for nothing. I 
have never received a single article of clothing from 
you. The land on which my house stands you sold 
me for twice as much as you would have charged 
any one else. When the burgomaster died, you 
blamed me for his death ; your children nearly 
stoned me, and when 1 was discharged as innocent, 
you still said : ‘ You’re a poisoner, after all.’ Now I 
have saved Peter’s life, and because I pulled down 
the landlord’s fence in doing so, I am made to pay 
the damages. Scalawags !” He threw the word in 
their faces a second time, like an enormous box on 
the ear, which was meant for all, and sufficed for 
all, and — whether it was the elementary power of 
the wrath which flashed from his eyes, or the half 
unconscious sense of the legitimacy of that wrath — 
in spite of the tumult which that word had called 
forth, Pavel was allowed to continue: ‘‘Why did 
you treat me thus? Because as a child 1 was a 
thief ? How many of you are honest ? Because my 
father died on the gallows? Could I help that? 
Scalawags !” And now rage overpowered him ; 
bewildering his mind, calling for vengence, the 
memory of all that he had endured and that had 
never been atoned for rose up before him. He no 
longer found words for an accusation, he could only 


Pavel's Triumph. 


247 


find them for a threat, and that he uttered : “ But 
if 1 do something to-day that brings me to the gal- 
lows, too, it will be your fault.” 

Not what he had said, and what only a few had 
understood, but his clenched fists, the aggressive 
position which he had assumed, provoked those 
whom Pavel had reviled, and suddenly blows rained 
down upon him, without producing more effect than 
if they had fallen upon a rock. He struck but one 
blow in return, but entirely disabled him who 
received it for that day and presumably for several 
succeeding ones. 

‘‘ Be quiet now !” cried the forester, whose stalwart 
figure had appeared in the door of the gentry-room. 
“ You have told them your mind, now keep quiet.” 

“Keep quiet !” responded a hoarse echo. Peter 
had mounted on the table, and threw a beer-jug at 
Pavel’s head, missed him, and struck Arnost’s fore- 
head with such force that he staggered ; but he 
pulled himself together immediately, sprang at the 
treacherous assailant, and pulled him from the table. 

This was the signal for a general combat. 

Two factions were formed : Pavel’s small, Peter’s 
large. The landlord and Peschek took refuge with 
the doctor in the adjoining room. The forester, 
who had tried to act as peace-maker, was convinced 
of the futility of his efforts, made his way through 


248 


The Child of the Parish, 


the crowd, and left the house. Outside, a large 
crowd, composed mostly of women and children, 
had already assembled. The boys, intoxicated by the 
vicinity of a “ big fight,” yelled, jumped up at the win- 
dows, fought for the best places. The weaker ones 
among them, crowded away from the windows of the 
guest-room, went to that of the gentry-room, but sud- 
denly dispersed, shrieking. Above them a pair of legs 
had made their appearance, and had attempted to 
use the heads of the boys as points of support, in 
order to reach the ground. The forester hastened 
to the spot, and rescued the owner of the legs — the 
doctor — from his hanging position. 

“ No longer any possibility of leaving in any 
other way,” said the old gentleman, shaking his 
head ; “ and leave I must. That Holub is laying 
about him terribly. The fellow’s a bear ; no one 
would believe it who has n’t seen it. Your most 
obedient.” 

In the same way as the doctor, Peschek, too, 
reached the street, followed by the landlord, who 
jingled loudly as he sprang to the ground. This 
sound was caused by the knives and forks which he 
had hurriedly taken from the tables and concealed 
in his loose clothes, before he left the guest-room to 
the wild troop, which was now holding sway there. 
He expressed his regret that he could not have 


PaveVs Trhimph. 


249 


taken the jugs and glasses as well, bewailed his prob- 
able lose, drove the boys from the window, pressed 
his face to the panes, and tried to distinguish what 
was going on in the room. But the terrible combat 
was being carried on in the dim light of the twi- 
light, which was already falling, in the clouds of 
dust which it had raised. Nothing could be seen 
but a wild, closely-wedged tangle of human bodies, 
swaying to and fro, nothing be heard but groans and 
oaths and the stamping of heavy feet, the crash 
of breaking wood. 

“ Oh ! my benches, my tables !’' sighed mine host ; 
and when he turned to ask Peschek whether it 
would not be better to send for the gendarme, the 
wary councilor had already disappeared in company 
with the doctor. 

“ Herr Forester, do you call them to order,” cried 
the landlord ; “ 1 won’t answer for anything — the 
blacksmith, Arnost, Holub — three against all the 
rest; they ’ll be killed, and with my benches, my 
tables,” he added, in a tone of utter despair. 

“ I don’t think it will come to that,” replied the 
forester, and suddenly there came flying out of the 
door two young peasants of Peter’s kindred. They 
had not yet risen from the ground when a couple of 
their friends rolled out after them, and no less invol- 
untarily than their predecessors. Three, and four. 


250 


The Child of the Parish. 


and five others next appeared, some turning a 
somerset, some with a short leap, this one with his 
feet first, another one with his head. And the forest- 
er greeted each arrival, and succeeded admirably, 
— aided by the persuasive arts of their female rela- 
tives, — in preventing those who were preparing to 
return to the battle-field, from carrying out their 
intention. 

He found an unexpected ally in Barosch, who, 
by means of vigorous aid, appeared at the door, and 
behind whom several of the peasants of the older 
generation soon became visible. Barosch stopped 
on the upper step and, with great difficulty, stam- 
mered : “ The wisest yields first.”* He collected 

his thoughts, waved his hands about in the air, 
repeated : The wisest yields first,” and tumbled 

down the steps. 

That’s right,” cried the forester. “ My respects 
to the wisest!” and when all who were wedged in 
the door had pushed their way out, he sprang up 
the steps, and, having reached the door of the guest- 
room, ejaculated : “ Thunder and lightning I” 

How the ranks had thinned. In the midst of the 
fragments of that which had been the furniture of 
the room, Peter and the few faithful allies who had 
adhered to him, were still holding the field against 
* German saying. 


Pavel 's Triumph, 


251 


Pavel. The latter had divested himself of his jacket 
and stood, in his shirt-sleeves, in front of Arnost and 
the blacksmith ; at his feet crouched Virgil, calling 
upon him for protection. Peter, beside himself, burn- 
ing with fever, sought to incite his followers to a 
renewal of the attacks upon his opponents, which 
had evidently been repeatedly repulsed. They, how- 
ever, hesitated, and when the forester shouted at 
them, in a voice of thunder : “ Peace, let no one 
stir again !” they obeyed him, and Pavel, too, 
obeyed ; but his face grew livid, and a mortal 
hatred flashed from his eyes as he fixed them upon 
Peter. 

The calm was of short duration. What those two 
had to settle with each other could never be adjusted 
by the intervention of a third party. 

Dog ! dog ! dog !” screamed Peter, suddenly 
putting his hand in his trouser’s-pocket. The click of 
an opening knife was heard, and he threw himself 
upon his antagonist with a naked blade. Arnost 
sprang forward to ward off the blow, but succeeded 
only partially ; the stroke aimed at Pavel’s breast, 
grazed his ribs ; a large spot of blood discolored his 
shirt. 

“ Back !” he cried, back ! leave the fellow to 
me !” and a struggle began, like that between a man 
and a wild beast. Peter foamed, bit and scratched ; 


252 


The Child of the Parish. 


Pavel merely defended himself, merely held him off, 
gave himself time, gathering his strength for a deci- 
sive move. 

And then it came. Guarding his face with his left 
hand, he quickly pushed the fingers of his right 
hand under Peter’s leather belt, lifted him by it high 
into the air, held him thus with his outstretched 
arm, shook him, and panted : ‘‘ Beast, if I dash you 
down now, it’ll be all over with you !” 

“ Do it !” cried Arnost. 

“ Don’t do it !” cried the forester, and Pavel sud- 
denly felt his enemy’s body grow heavy as lead ; his 
clenched hands opened ; the knife fell from them ; 
his legs, which had been drawn up, sank down 
feebly — he was utterly exhausted, and awaited the 
finishing blow. 

Then Pavel let him down slowly, saying : ‘‘ Have 
you had enough ? Get out now !” and threw him to 
his friends, who led the staggering, half-unconscious 
man from the room in silence. 

The forester closed the door behind them, and 
Pavel broke out into a jubilant cry ; “ All of them 
outside and we inside !” He did not feel his wound, 
he did not feel the bruises with which he was cov- 
ered ; he felt nothing but triumphant joy, and an 
impetuous gratitude, eager for expression towards 


Pavel's Triumph. 


253 


his allies: “ All of them outside, and we inside; we. 
three !” 

“ VVe four,” whined Virgil ; “ didn’t I stick to you 
to the last, Pavlicek, against my son-inlaw ?” 

Pavel continued to exult: “And I told them 
my mind, too !” 

“ Told it and showed it,” cried Arnost, “ and the 
next time they want to hear or see anything, you 
can count on me, comrade.” 

The forester looked Pavel over from head to foot : 
“ You’re a devil of a fellow !” he said, smiling. And 
Anton also smiled. A last struggle between his 
vanity and his integrity was ended : 

“ And it was he who repaired the machine,” the 
blacksmith said. 



CHAPTER XV. 

PAVEL VISITS MILADA. 

At midnight Pavel went home. It was cold, and 
the stars were shining brightly. Near the church 
he met Much, the watchman, who saluted him with 
a certain respectful cordiality, and said to him : 
“ Our dogs have nearly killed a strange dog. 
Cursed beast, it fought like the devil.” 

“ Another case of one against many,” thought 
Pavel, and when he reached the village fountain, 
and stumbled over an object which lay upon the 
ground, he was glad when he heard it whine at his 
kick. He drew the dog from the pool of blood in 
which he lay, drew some water, and emptied a 
bucketful over the creature. As far as he could 
make out in the dark, the imprudent intruder had 
been used very badly. He was a cruelly used 
victim of that brute patriotism to which the blind 
attachment to everything domestic means blind 
hated to all that is foreign, 

[254] 


Pavel Visits Milada, 


255 


The dog gave no signs of life. Pavel left him 
lying where he had placed him, and went on his 
way. Soon, however, he noticed that the creature 
was creeping after him, slowly and painfully up the 
hill ; he did not hinder him, put up with his company 
and, having reached home, attended to him in spite 
of the repugnance and disgust with which the 
poor beast’s extraordinary ugliness and his gaping 
wounds inspired him. 

The next day, as on every other winter’s day, he 
went over to the factory. He found it difficult to 
work ; his head felt dull, and his whole body ached. 
When he returned in the evening, he expected to 
find a summons from the burgomaster ; but there 
was none, nor did he receive any subsequently. 

During the time that followed, whenever he met 
one of his enemies, he expected an attack, and was 
prepared to defend himself. But each time in vain. 
Nobody seemed inclined to engage in a quarrel 
with him. Were they afraid of him ? All of them 
together afraid of him alone ? Or was it that they 
only intended to allay his suspicions, and were 
awaiting an opportunity to revenge themselves — 
could they be so mean and deceitful ? At any rate, 
he would not cease for a moment to be on his guard, 
— would never forget that he was surrounded by 
creditors who had a bad debt to collect from him. 


256 


The Child of the Parish. 


The winter passed, however, and no renewal of 
hostilities against him took place. He was allowed 
to occupy his cabin undisturbed ; the sight of it, 
which had for so long a time given such dissatis- 
faction, was now met with indifference. Many were 
even secretly surprised at the air of competency 
which the little settlement gradually assumed. 

Pavel had surrounded his house with a fence of 
withes set crosswise, behind which he cultivated 
vegetables. Everything prospered, thanks to his 
indefatigable, stubborn, iron industry. The small 
fir-tree, the only one which had withstood the 
attacks of the malevolent, had grown considerably ; 
its top peeped in at the window at the side of 
the cabin. A sturdy little tree, which defiantly 
stretched forth its broad boughs, that, young as it 
was, were already decorated with a beard of white 
moss. 

The whole establishment, the cabin with its slant- 
ing roof, the fir-tree beside it, the fence in front, 
looked like one of the pictures made by children in 
their first attempts at drawing. On the threshold, 
under which was buried the stone which was forever 
to remind Pavel of hatred and contempt for his 
fellow-men, lay the new member of his household, 
his snappish dog, whom, with unconscious humor, 
he had named “ UamourT L’amour had the size of 


Pavel Visits llfilada. 


257 


a setter and the frame of a butcher’s dog ; his broad 
nose was naturally cloven, which gave him a very 
fierce expression ; on the slightest occasion he 
showed his teeth and bristled his short black hair. 
A bitter grudge against every living thing seemed 
constantly to be fermenting in his soul. He never 
in any love-affair ; all dogs, whether male 
or female, were equally obnoxious to him, and he 
made himself equally formidable to both sexes. He 
knew but one deep, quiet, undemonstrative attach- 
ment, — that to his master. For hours he would sit in 
front of the house without turning his eyes from the 
road along which Pavel would come. And when, at 
last, he discerned him, his inner feelings would be 
betrayed at the most by a few shivers of joy, which 
ran through him, and a faint wag of his stumpy 
tail. If L’amour gave few caresses, however, he 
also received few ; but he always got his supper as 
soon as his master got home, and before the latter 
had eaten a mouthful. 

From the unclouded peace of mind in which Pavel 
had been living for some months, he was roused by 
the arrival of a letter from his mother. He had not 
yet answered her last epistle, and now this letter 
came after an interval of a year, and contained 
neither a complaint nor a reproach ; it merely 
repeated the requests with which the first one had 


The Child of the Parish, 


258 

been filled, requests for news of her children, ana 
also closed, like that one and like all its predeces- 
sors, with the words : “ I am well so far.” Then 
followed the signature, and, finally, a communication 
which the writer had saved up to the last, and then 
banished to the uttermost margin of the paper, 
where it stood as if afraid and ashamed : “ Fourteen 
months from to-day my term of punishment will be 
over.” 

This was on the evening of the sixth of March. 

Pavel counted on his fingers. Next year, in May, 
then, his mother would come to live with him. His 
mother, the companion of a thief, a murderer, who, 
in court, to the terrible accusation of having been 
the accomplice of his crime, uttered not a syllable, 
not a sound in reply, made no denial whatever ! 
Suddenly the thought flashed acro.ss him : “ Like 
myself!” He, too, had made no denial before the 
court, nor had he excused himself. Because he 
could not have done so? No — because he did not 
wish to. Perhaps — unspeakably consoling, illumin- 
ating his whole soul, the feeling came over him : 
“ Perhaps, she, too, could have done it and did not 
wish to.” 

That same day he wrote to his mother ; but he 
was ashamed to confess to her that he knew nothing 
about Milada, and concluded not to send his letter 


Pavel Vis i Is Mila da. 


259 


until he should have procured for himself the 
possibility of giving some news of his sister in it, 
even if it were only the short, meager intelligence: 

“ Milada is well ; she sends her love to you.” 

The dawning day found him on the way to the 
city, and he reached the convent-door so early, that 
for a long time he did not venture to ring the 
bell. 

He leaned against the wall of the great house, 
whose roof held that which was dearest to him on 
earth, — the only thing near and dear to him which 
had remained pure and undesecrated, the only 
thing to which his whole heart clung — the sister 
who had voluntarily turned away from him. 

The bells of the convent-church rang for mass, 
the organ resounded in solemn tones, and singing 
was heard, as clear, as soft as the gently stirring air 
which bore it to him from a distance on trembling 
wings. From an earthly heaven, thought Pavel, — 
from a realm of the blessed and the peaceful, too 
high, too holy to be reached even by the longing of 
a sinful child of earth ; too high, too holy to inspire 
him with anything but awe and adoration. 

By degrees a small assembly of old persons and 
children had gathered about Pavel, permanent pen- 
sioners of the convent, who were waiting for admit- 
tance. When it was granted them, Pavel joined ' 


26 o 


The Child of the Parish. 


them as the last of the procession. The portress 
showed the poor people to a table on which a break- 
fast stood ready for them, and then addressed to 
Pavel, who had remained standing at the door, and 
did not stir, the question : 

“ What do you wish ?” 

And he, although he felt as if some one were tak- 
ing him by the throat and strangling him, managed 
to bring out the words : 

“ My name is Pavel Holub.” 

A dark flush arose in the stern face of the por- 
tress. 

“ Oh, 3^es,” she said ; an unpleasant recollection of 
Pavel’s first visit dawned within her. 

“ I am,” he resumed, “ the brother of little 
Milada.” 

“ Oh, yes, yes, — and you would like to see your 
sister?” she added, without considering what she 
said. 

No, he had never cherished so bold a hope as that. 
It was only at this question that it rose up within 
him, and drove the blood to his head with a force 
that almost made him dizzy. 

“Would I like to?” he stammered, “ certainly — 
more than I can tell.” 

The portress became aware of her blunder, and 
said, with some embarrassment ; 


Pavel Visits Milada, 


261 


“But there is no admittance at this hour, and 
altogether, this is no reception day, and — . But 
there is Mother Afra,” she interrupted herself ; 
“ wait a few moments.” 

She went to meet an old nun, who, followed by 
two lay-sisters, was descending the stairs which led 
into the hall. Pavel recognized her at once ; it was 
the Sister Stewardess, who had once spoken so 
important a word in the matter on which it seemed 
to him at that time that his whole salvation de- 
pended. The portress spoke to her in a low voice, 
and Pavel could not doubt that they were talking 
about him ; Mother Afra’s eyes were turned upon 
him repeatedly and with earnest attention while she 
was listening in silence. 

At last she beckoned to him to come to her, asked 
with a melancholy smile, if he were really Pavel 
Holub, and when he assented, she said : 

“ That is hard to believe ; you have changed so 
much. And what have you brought us that is 
good ?” 

Quickly, as it had arisen, Pavel’s hope of meeting 
with his sister had died out again, and he did not 
even venture to confess that he had entertained it. 
In face of a room full of coarse, half-intoxicated men, 
he had proved himself their master ; this old lady, 
in her serene dignity, with the mild benevolence in 


262 


TJie Child of the PaiHsh. 


the features on which suffering had set its purifying 
stamp, intimidated him. In a suppressed and agi- 
tated tone, he answered : 

“ I have brought a greeting from my mother to 
my sister Milada, and I would like to know, besides, 
his voice grew almost inaudible, “ how my sister is.” 

“ That question we can answer, can we not. 
Sister Cornelia?” said Mother Afra, turning to the 
portress. “Your sister is well in body and soul, 
thanks be to God, who created her for our joy and 
edification. As for the greeting, we shall first have 
to obtain permission to deliver it ; do you not think 
so. Sister Cornelia ?” 

Her eye rested kindly upon Pavel, while, still 
heavily oppressed, he said : 

“ I should also like to write to my mother, that 
my sister sends her her love.” 

“ Oh, indeed,” replied Mother Afra. “Well, that 
can be attended to, likewise — don’t you think so. 
Sister Cornelia ? You must only have a little pa- 
tience. Have you time to be patient ?” she added, 
facetiously, then nodded her head, and went on past 
Pavel, who made her a clumsy but profound bow. 

He was taken by the portress to the same room in 
which, as a boy, he had passed hours never to be 
forgotten, hours of the most anxious expectation. 

Nothing was changed in the dreary apartment, 


Pavel Pis? Is Mllada. 


263 


every chair was in the old place, the same damp 
spots were on the wall. Only the view from the 
grated windows offered a more pleasing picture 
now ; for the fruit-trees, half denuded of their leaves 
at that time, were now gay in their spring-garment 
of white and pink blossoms. At the other end of 
the lawn, in front of the side-wing of the house, 
which touched the garden- wall, a merry party of 
little convent-pupils was busily engaged in play. 
They often interrupted their games, and vied with 
each other in running to the novice who had charge 
of them. And the latter had much to do to ward 
off the caresses of the assailing troop. And how 
kindly she did it, and how decidedly ; how well she 
understood keeping the unruly ones in check, and 
encouraging those whom timidity held aloof, distrib- 
uting reproof and praise, bestowing affection and 
manifesting displeasure according to merit and 
deserts. PaveFseyes were fixed upon her charming, 
slender figure. He could not distinguish her feat- 
ures, but he imagined that her manner reminded 
him of Milada. Just about like that he fancied 
little Milada must look now, only she could hardly 
have grown so tall, that seemed impossible ; impos- 
sible, too, that she should already be wearing a nun’s 
habit. 

A bell was heard ; the novice took the smallest 


264 


The Child of the Parish, 


girl on her arm, the others ran along beside her or 
in front of her, — one moment, and they all disap- 
peared in the house. 

Pavel left the window. He had been prepared, 
by the words of Mother Afra, for a long time a' 
waiting, and was greatly surprised when the door 
opened after only a few minutes. On the threshold, 
with her wonted lofty calm, unchanged by the years, 
which had left no trace upon her, appeared the 
Superior. She led a young girl by the hand, tall 
and slender, the same whom Pavel had been watch- 
ing, and who had reminded him of his sister — Milada, 
in the habit of a novice. 

He gazed at her in an astonishment which was at 
the same unspeakabl}" happy and unspeakably sad ; 
a cry of rapture came from her lips at the sight of 
him ; the pallor of her delicate face grew still more 
transparent, still more colorless. 

“ Pavel, dear, dear Pavel !” she cried ; but she did 
not tear herself away from the hand that was lead- 
ing her ; she stood still, and gazed at him with 
wide-open eyes, radiant with happiness. 

He, too, stood still. Mightier than the wish to 
rush up to her and clasp her to his bosom, was the 
reverent awe which had come over him, and held him 
in check, and made the beloved one, whom he had so 


Pavel Visits Milada, 


265 

longed for, and who was so near him, unapproach- 
able. 

Benumbed by this feeling, he remained silent In 
his head one thought chased another ; this young 
saint, was that his sister? Had he still a right to 
call her so? Was it she, whom he had held in his 
arms a thousand times, had kissed, fondled, some- 
times even beaten? Was it she, whose cries of 
“I’m hungry, Pavlicek, I’m hungry !” had enticed 
him to steal, oh, how often? Was it she, whose 
little feet he had often bound lip when they were 
sore from the long tramps from place to place, with 
their father and mother ? Was this she ? 

The Superior enjoyed the surprise of the brother 
and sister. “ Well,” she said, turning to Milada 
graciously, “ who was it that once said, in childish 
despair : ‘ I shall never see you again ; they will 
never let me see you again?’ And now your 
brother is here. Speak to him now, shake hands 
with him.” 

This bidding had to be repeated before Pavel and 
Milada ventured to follow it, and then when Pavel 
held his sister’s hand in his, he was startled at its 
feverish heat, and at the quick throbbing of the 
pulses which beat against his fingers. In his rough 
right hand he held a small, narrow one, but not the 
soft hand of one brought up in idleness, but a hand 


266 


The Child of the Parish, 


used to work. So the tender pilgrim on the way to 
Heaven had not been exempted from the common 
toil of earth. 

The words which the master had once said to 
him, only half understood at the time, rose up in 
Pavel’s memory. “ How long can a candle burn 
that is lit at both end ?” His heart contracted, he 
raised his eyes from Milada’s hand to her face, and 
said : A nun then, so you are a nun?” 

The Superior replied : “ Not yet, but in a little 
while she will be one of those who say with our 
Divine Redeemer : ‘ Who is my mother ? who are 
my brethren ?’ ” 

At the word “ mother,” Pavel awakened as if from 
a dream. “Mother sends you her love,” he said; 
“ she is quite well. And she would like to know 
how you are. What shall 1 write her ?” 

“Write her,” replied Milada, but stopped, turn- 
ing a glance requesting permission upon the Supe- 
rior ; and it was only when the latter nodded approv- 
ingly, that she resumed: “ Tell her that my whole 
life is nothing but a single prayer for her, and — for 
still another, our poor, unhappy father,” her voice 
had grown lower — now it rose again with a joyful 
ring — “ and for you, too, my dear, beloved Pavel.” 

Pavel muttered something indistinctly, his eyes 


Pavel Visits Milada. 


267 


began to burn intolerably ; suddenly he dropped 
Milada’s hand and retreated a step. 

She continued : “ The All-merciful has listened to 
m}^ pra3^er. He has made you good. Is it not so ? 
Speak, dear Pavel, sa}^ yes — you may say so, for it 
is a work of His grace. Tell me, I beg of you, that 
you have grown good and honest. Pavel, dearest, 
are you good and honest?” 

He bowed his head, deeply moved by her entreat- 
ies, and said : “ I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” asked Milada, and when he 
remained silent, she appealed, with rising anxiety, 
to the Superior: “ He does not know! Reverend 
Mother, how can that be ?” 

The Superior saw alarm and agitation depicted in 
the features of the novice, saw her pale cheeks col- 
ored by a deepening crimson, and replied, reassur- 
ingly : “ It can very well be so. He has given you 
an excellent answer, that of a modest man, who does 
not know his own worth. We know it, however; 
we are aware of the progress which your brother is 
making on the road to salvation. It was for this 
reason that we allowed him to give you his message 
himself, and to receive yours in person. This has 
been done, and now, my dear children, you must 
take leave of each other.” 

Pavel sighed deeply: “ Already?” And at the 


268 The CJiifd of the Parish. 


same time and with equal dismay the same words 
fell from Milada’s lips. Only a short struggle, how- 
ever, and the involuntary cry of the heart was fol- 
lowed by resignation to another’s will ; she said : 

“ Good-bye, Pavel.” 

Her pious obedience was rewarded. The Superior 
smiled kindly, and remarked : “ And you may say : 
* Till we meet again.’ ” 

“ When I take the veil,” Milada interrupted her, 
with enthusiasm, “ you must come to see me take 
the veil; any one can come. Is it not so. Reverend 
Mother? any one can come. He may come, and 1,” 
she added, humbly, after a moment’s reflection, “ may 
I ask him one question ?” 

‘‘ Ask it.” 

Milada, who had been on the point of following 
the Superior, turned to Pavel again : 

“ Dearest, have you forgiven all those who have 
injured you ?” 

He saw the intense, trembling expectation with 
which she listened for his answer; he examined his 
heart, and said Some of them.” 

“ But you must forgive them all ; they are God’s 
tools who lead you to Him by trials. Forgive them, 
love them ; promise me.” 

She besought him with an impetuosity which 
reminded him of the Milada of former days. “ Prom- 


Pavel Visits Mi la da. 


269 


ise me, my Favel ! If you do not, 1 must suffer 
for it,” she complained, “ it is a sign that I have not 
yet done enough, in good works, and prayer and 
penance.” 

“ I promise it,” he cried, quite overpowered, and 
stretched out his arms towards her. 

“ Thanks,” he heard her say ; “ thanks, dear, dear- 
est Pavel!” And then all was over; the vision of 
light had vanished. The Superior had led Milada 
away ; he was alone. 

Soon after, the portress opened the door of the 
room, and remained standing beside it, with the 
knob in her hand. Pavel obeyed her mute behest, 
stepped into the hall, and then left the house. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

THE master’s last WORDS. 

Pavel slowly crossed the square, which once had 
impressed him with such grandeur, but for the 
beauties of which he had no eyes to-day. The feel- 
ing of happiness at his unexpected meeting with 
Milada still vibrated within him for awhile, but soon 
gave way to an all-absorbing sensation of torturing 
anxiety, which tilled his soul with sorrow and with 
regret. 

He ought not to have suffered himself to be sent 
away, as he had done in cowardly timidity : he 
should have staid, and said to tlie Superior : “ I feel 
anxious about m}^ sister ; do you not see that she is 
wearing herself out in work, and prayer, and pen- 
ance?” — that would have been his duty, indeed, his 
right. The thought once conceived, at once became 
a resolve. Pavel returned to the convent and 
pulled the bell. 

The door was not opened, but at a small grating in 
it an eye became visible ; the portress asked the 
[270] 


The Master s Last Words. 


271 


business of him who had rung the bell, and at 
Pavel’s answer he was told that the Superior could 
not be seen. The shutter behind the grating was 
closed. 

What was to be done.? Should he knock, make a 
noise, force an entrance, at the peril of drawing the 
displeasure of the pious sisters upon himself? And 
if he did so — who would suffer for Pavel’s fault — 
would suffer more voluntarily than by compulsion? 
Milada. He knew that very weil, and commenced 
his homeward way anew. 

At the end of the town, close by the bridge, there 
was an inn, and in front of it stood a linden-tree with 
spreading branches, giving shade to a few tables and 
benches, the thin legs of which were fixed in the 
ground. Pavel seated himself on one of the latter; 
he was hungry and thirsty, and called for beer and 
bread, but when that which he had ordered was 
brought, he forgot to eat and drink. 

The scene in the court of the inn was quite ani- 
mated ; a country-stage had just arrived, and had 
deposited several passengers, two of whom were 
engaged in a lively dispute with the driver with 
regard to the gratuity demanded by him. One old 
woman missed some of her luggage, and to the 
annoyance of the other travelers, was overhauling 


2J2 


The Child of the Parish. 


the small mountain of valises and bundles which had 
been deposited under the portal. 

Pavel at first took but little notice of these pro- 
ceedings ; but his attention was thoroughly roused 
when he suddenly discovered a valise, a fur coat, 
and a knotty stick, which lay upon the ground near 
the entrance. Why, these were three old acquaint- 
ances! Particularly the stick; that had danced 
about on his back very briskly on one occasion. 

Without a moment’s thought, he cried aloud : 
“ Master, master ! are you there sprang from his 
seat, and was about to rush into the house, when 
Habrecht came to meet him with outstretched arms. 

“ All ye good spirits ! Pavel, my dear fellow !” 

“ Where did you come from ? where are you 
going?” 

Where am I going? To you; 1 was going to 
see you, and now 1 meet you on the way. A happy 
accident — a good omen !” 

“ You were coming to see me? That is glorious, 
master !” 

“ Glorious ? what nonsense 1 but don’t call me 
master any more. I am no longer a schoolmaster ; 
that is all over. 1 have become a disciple, and ” — he 
pointed his lips and inhaled the air with profound 
satisfaction, as if he were speaking of something 
delicious, — “ a new life is going to begin for me.” 


The Master's Last Words. 


2/3 


Pavel was astonished ; he thought the new life 
had begun long ago. 

“ That was nothing, an utter failure,” said 
Habrecht, shaking his head. *‘You shall hear all 
about it ; come into the house ; under this tree — a 
handsome tree — I may be longing for the sight of 
such a linden-tree soon ; it is too cool for me. Come, 
my dear boy, I have a great deal to tell you and 
want to hear a great deal about you, before we part, 
probably, never to meet again.” 

He ordered dinner for himself and Pavel, as well 
as the best room on the first floor, and declared him- 
self extremely well-satisfied when the}'' were shown 
into an apartment, the furniture of which consisted 
of two beds heaped high with feather-beds and 
pillows, a table covered with oilcloth, and four 
chairs. The turbid soup, too, and the still more 
turbid wine, as well as the beef boiled to rags and 
the half-raw potatoes which the host set before 
them, he greeted with unconditional praise. His 
own want of nourishment was not greater than that 
of an Indian fakir, but he did not cease to encourage 
his guest : “ Eat and drink, and enjoy your dinner ; 
the food is good, and I will flavor it for you with 
improving conversation — with the quintessence of 
my experience.” 

He began his narration, became more and more 


2/4 


7' he Child of the Parish. 


excited, could not stay long in one spot, now talked 
while standing, now while sitting, now while dart- 
ing about the room, and always with peculiar, abrupt 
gestures. 

Yes, that had been a mistake, — that faith of his in 
a new sun of life, which was to rise for him in his 
new field of labor. The ghosts of the dead past 
hovered after him into the living present, and caused 
confusion and dissension where clearness and peace 
should have reigned, Habrecht had tried to do too 
well, had shown too much zeal, sought for favor too 
humbly ; all this, combined with his industry, his 
strict attention to duty, and his blameless mode of 
life, awakened suspicion. “ That man must have a 
guilty conscience,” people said. 

“Do you understand ?” asked Habrecht. “ When 
I heard that, the ghost grinned at me of which 1 
spoke to you at first. Had I been like one who had 
nothing to make amends for, had I not wanted to do 
too well, but gone my straight way simply and 
plainly, without caring for the good opinion of 
strangers. Another thing ! they are far more ra- 
bidly Czeckish* there than here ; my German name 
displeased them ; they suspected me of German 

♦ About 1848 a movement sprang up in Bohemia and Moravia 
to re-instate the Czekh, or national language (a branch of the 
Slavic), and the opposition between the two factions represent 
ing that and the German was very bitter. 


The Master s Last 1 Fords. 


275 


sympathies — me, to whom this world is a place of 
trouble, and every human-being more or less heavily 
tried ; / would be likely to make a difference ; / 
would be likely to say : I care more for the welfare 
of him who was born on this side of the brook than 
for that of him who was born beyond it. There is a. 
nation, yes, one which guides, which leads, which 
lights the way for us ; all full of energy and ability, 
— that I should be proud to belong to — as far as all 
other pride of nationality is concerned/’ — he put his 
hand to his head and laughed, “ it is nothing 
but folly, unworthy of the century. That is my 
feeling. ‘ If you don’t like my name of Habrecht,’ I 
said to them, ‘ call me Mamprav, it’s all the same to 
me.’ Well, by showing my readiness to give up to 
them even in that matter, 1 lost ground with them 
entirely. Now I was a spy, who wanted to get into 
their good graces, for who knows what purpose, and 
then I trod on serpents at every step. At last I 
could not get a loaf at the baker’s or an apple at the 
apple-woman’s for my money. Oh, men, men ! we 
ought to love you — and want to love you — but some- 
times we are sorely afraid, indeed, we even are 
afraid very often.” 

The memory of what he had lately passed through 
depressed him ; he remained silent awhile, but ere 
long his indestructible vivacity regained the upper- 


The Child of the Parish. 


276 

hand and he again sent forth a torrent of speech, 
and forgot, carried away by it as he was, to consider 
the powers of perception of his listener. Pavel’s 
interest in the explanations of his old patron had 
great difficulty in asserting itself in view of the 
defective comprehension which he could offer them. 

The last trial which Herbecht had undergone, had 
been bitter, but short. A friend, an old schoolmate, 
with whom he had kept up a constant correspond- 
ence, presented himself to him one morning as a 
deliverer from all care and trouble. There was a 
certain resemblance between the destinies of the 
two men, and it was the extraordinary harmony 
between them in mind, character and feeling, which 
had preserved their friendship in spite of long years 
of separation. On meeting again, they resolved at 
once to continue their battle of life side by side. 
The means for repairing to the battle-field chosen 
by them, were to be furnished by the friend, by the 
friend’s friends. The latter lived in America, were 
wealthy and highly respected, and belonged to the 
most zealous apostles of an “ Ethical Society,” the 
object of which was the propagation of moral cul- 
ture, and which was daily gaining in adherents and 
in influence. 

“ They call themselves professors of a religion of 
morality,” cried Habrecht ; “/call them the kindlers 


Tae Master s Last Words. 


277 


and guardians of the most sacred fire that ever 
burned on earth, and the light of which is destined 
to call forth on the face of the human community 
the reflection of a lofty joy, hitherto a stranger to it. 
Their message has reached me in shape of a book, 
the like of which was never yet written. Oh, my dear 
boy ! a wonderful book, which has almost taken the 
place in rny affections of that which you, poor fool ! 
once called a conjuring-book. I am going to follow 
the call ; I am going over to seek for something 
which 1 have lost and have forever missed ; a con- 
nection with the Beyond. We need one or two 
things, we poor children of earth, some degree of 
prosperity, be it ever so small, or a reason for our 
sufferings ; otherwise we grow sad, and that is 
unworthy of a good man.” 

Here Pavel interrupted him for the first time : 
“ Is sadness unworthy ? 

“ Altogether. Sadness is quiet, is death ; cheer- 
fulness is activity, motion, life.” He stopped in 
front of the table, looked at Pavel keenly, and said : 
“ You are still wanting in cheerfulness ; you have 
not grown more lively. And how are you getting 
along in the village ?” 

“ Better,” replied Pavel. 

“ 1 am glad to hear it. Since when?” 


278 


The Child of the Parish. 


“ Since 1 told them and showed them my mind 
one day.” 

“ Told them your mind, oh ! — showed it to them, 
oh, oh ! How did you show it to them ? Did you 
thrash them ?” 

“ I thrashed them soundlyc'^ 

“Well, well, well!” Habrecht looked rather 
dubious and folded his arms. “ Hem, my dear 
fellow, blows are not bad, but only for the beginning, 
by no means later, and never again as a palliative. 
Quacks, indeed, know nothing about radical reme- 
dies, and therefore deny that there are such. Don’t 
be a quack !” he shouted at the astonished Pavel, 
who had not even an approximate idea of what he 
meant. 

And now Habrecht invited him to speak. “ I 
have made you my general confession, now let me 
hear yours.” He began to ask questions, demanded 
an accurate account of all that his former pupil had 
done and experienced, and received it as rapidly as 
the ejaculations, comments, and good advice with 
which he constantly interrupted Pavel, permitted. 
The latter did not object in the least; they disturbed 
him no more than the sound of a murmuring brook 
would have done, and gave him time to collect his 
thoughts after every sentence, and seek a suitable 
expression for them. At last he had poured out the 


The Master s Last Words. 


279 

whole of his firmly locked, overflowing heart into 
that of his whimsical friend. 

They were both in a solemn mood. The old man 
laid his hands upon the head of the young one, and 
pronounced an earnest blessing upon him. 

“ In reason and as far as the parish is concerned,” 
he concluded, you ought to have turned out a bad 
fellow ; and instead of that you are a fine one. Go 
on as you have begun, snap your fingers at them 
again and again. Work your way up to be a 
peasant; make them choose you for their burgo- 
master.” 

Pavel’s eyes opened wider than ever before in 
his life, and looked at the master with a smile that 
was at the same time proud and incredulous. 

“ Yes, yes, and when you have reached that 
point, then repay them with good for all the evil 
they have done you.” 

It was growing dark ; the hour of departure 
was at hand, and Habrecht was seized with feverish 
excitemet. He demanded his bill, paid it, gave no 
heed to the assurances of the landlord that he was 
much too early for the train, left the house, and, 
followed by Pavel, who carried his valise and his 
fur coat, started for the railroad-station in double- 
quick time. 

When he reached the station and asked if he was 


28 o 


The Child of the Parish, 


in time for the night express for Vienna, everybody 
laughed at him, which calmed his anxiety. 

A violent wind had arisen and shook the locust- 
trees planted in front of the station unmercifully ; a 
cold, driving rain fell from the gray, scudding 
clouds. Habrecht paid no attention to it, and piti- 
lessly exposed his venerable dress-coat, which he 
had donned for this journey, too, to the severity of the 
weather. It was only to his gray, long-napped high 
hat that he had granted the protection of a handker- 
chief spread over it and fastened beneath its brim, 
which curled up at the sides ; and thus he sauntered 
up and down the platform beside Pavel, talking 
incessantly. 

When the ticket-office had been opened, and he 
had bought his ticket, his impatience knew no 
bounds. He looked at his watch ; he had no confi- 
dence in the station clock. Ten minutes yet, but it 
was possible that just to-day the train arrived five 
minutes earlier, and as, in that case, they might have 
to say good-by in five minutes, why not say it now ? 
He begged Pavel earnestly to go home, not to wait 
any longer on his account. But before that, he 
compelled him, almost by main force, to accept of 
his watch. 

“ I shall not need it any longer ; my friend has 
one. Reflect ; if there were always one watch to 


The Master s Last Words, 


28 


two people, what an advantageous statistical pro- 
portion that would be! Farewell now, go!” 

With one hand he pushed him awa}', with the 
other he held him back. “ My last words, dear boy, 
mark them well, impress them on your soul and on 
your brain ! Listen ! we are living in an especiall}^ 
instructive time. Never has it been more distinctly 
enjoined upon mankind to be unselfish, if for no 
higher motive, still for that of self-preservation ; but 
1 see that that is too high for you again — I’ll put it 
differently, then. In former times any one could 
quietly sit before his full plate and enjoy his meal, 
without feeling at all distressed that his neighbor’s 
plate was empty. But that can’t be done now-a- 
days, except by those who are totally blind spirit- 
ually. All others will have their appetites spoilt 
by the neighbor’s empty plate — the good from a 
sense of right, the cowardly from fear. Therefore, 
do you have a care when you fill your own plate, 
that there are as few empty plates as possible in 
your neighborhood. Do you understand me?” 

“ I think I do.” 

“ Do you understand, too, that you ought never 
to be any man’s enemy, not even if he is yours ?” 

“ My sister has told me something like that,” 
replied Pavel. 

Habrecht expressed his gratification at this har- 


282 


The Child of the Parish, 


mony of ideas, and continued: “Furthermore, do 
not forget your reading. Before I gave away my 
stock of school-books, I laid aside six of them for 
you — you will receive them by mail — plain books, 
compiled by men who never became famous; but if 
you know everything that is in them, and do ever}^- 
thing that they advise you to do, you will know 
much and will do well. Read them, read them 
constantly, and when you have finished the sixth, 
begin at the first again. As for the most difficult 
experience in life, the sweetest, the most cruel, the 
mightiest and most terrible of all passions — I do not 
even like to name it — I should think you might 
have been put out of conceit with it, and would 
probably remain so. It has been poisoned for you 
at the source, at its very beginning ; that is some- 
times effectual for all time. You have had so bad 
an experience with it, that your most sincere friend 
— whom I take myself to be — could wish you noth- 
ing better. 

More and more people had assembled at the 
station. A bell sounded, a whistle was heard in the 
distance. Habrecht paid no heed to all this ; he 
had seized Pavel by the coat, and was talking to 
him rapidly and earnestly : 

“ It is not necessary that every one should found 
a family ; it is the greatest delusion that one ought 


The Master s Last J Forets. 


283 


to have children of one’s own — there are children 
enough in the world — and the better a father is, the 
less satisfaction he will have from his children. 
Who is it that feels noble and unselfish enough to be 
entitled to think himself capable of being a good 
father ? And your reputation, my dear boy, be care- 
ful of your reputation ; you remember that certain 
slate, which ought to be clean — yours was very 
much scratched — scour it, brush it, strive onward — 
think each day : ‘ If 1 am not somewhat better 
to-day than 1 was yesterday, 1 am sure to be some- 
what worse.’ ” 

“ Master,” said Pavel, trying to attract his atten- 
tion, when the second bell sounded ; but, from under 
the corner of the handkerchief, which had become 
loosened from the hat-brim, and, moved by the 
wind, fluttered around Habrecht’s face, the latter 
looked at him affectionately, and continued : 

“ Do not tell me : ‘ Those principles are too high 
for such as I ; take them to those who have a high 
position ; we are low-born, and a lower morality is 
good enough for us.’ 1 tell you it is just the best 
morality which is the right one for you, you low- 
born ones ; you are the most important of all ! It is 
no longer possible to accomplish anything great 
without your aid — from you proceeds what will be 
the curse or the blessing of the future,” 


284 


The Child of the PaiHsh, 


“ Master, master, it is time !” cried Pavel, and 
Habrecht replied : 

“ Your time, yes, indeed — and whatever you make 
of it, will — ” 

“ All aboard !” was shouted close to his ear, and 
he looked round, saw the train standing before him, 
uttered a cry of dismay : “ Third class to Vienna 

rushed up to the car designated to him by the guard, 
and climbed into it with marvelous, though not very 
graceful rapidity. 

Pavel hastened after him and handed his luggage 
into the over-filled compartment in which, amid 
many excuses, he had found a place. Another 
whistle, and the train began to move. For a short 
distance, Pavel, running very fast, could keep up 
with it. 

“ God bless you, master !” he shouted, and from 
amid smoke and clouds of steam came the answer: 

“ And you likewise, my dear boy. Amen, amen, 
amen !” 

Late that evening, when Pavel reached home, he 
fed his .dog, took a pickaxe, and dug up the stone 
which he had buried beneath the threshold of his 
house. 

L’amour sat at one side, and, from his cross, half, 
closed eyes, he cast such looks of censure on his 
master’s work, licked his nose so often, and assumed 


The Master s Last Words. 


285 

so contemptuous an expression, that Pavel could 
not help noticing his ill-humor. 

“ Have you any objections to my doing this?” he 
asked. 

L’amour replied by showing his teeth scornfully. 

Pavel, however, had taken up the stone, examined 
it, weighed it in his hand, and found it even smaller 
and lighter than he had thought it was. 

“ Here it is, look — take it,” he said, holding it out 
to the dog, who, by his master’s order, took it into 
his mouth and carried it after him. 

Arrived at the fountain at which their first meet- 
ing had taken place, Pavel took the stone out of the 
dog’s mouth and threw it into the water, in which 
it sank to the bottom with a loud gurgle. 

L’amour expressed his disapprobation by a 
growl. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

PETER’S DEATH. 

For some time past the Baroness had exchanged 
her apartments on the first floor of the great castle 
for others on the ground floor. She felt herself 
growing very old, the stairs were troublesome to 
her, and she no longer ascended them except on 
occasion of some special ceremony which made it 
necessary. As, for example, on the first of January, 
when, as lady of the manor, she received the con- 
gratulations of all her officials, who presented them- 
selves in a body with their wives and such of their 
descendants as were of suitable age ; or on Thursday 
in Hol}^ Week, when, in accordance with a family- 
tradition, she held a modest imitation of the festival 
which takes place on that day at the “ Hofburg ” in 
Vienna, in the midst of imperial splendor.* 

The usual life of the old lady passed in uniform, 
ever-increasing quiet. Her thoughts frequently 

* The “ Washing of the Pilgrims’ feet.” 

[286] 


Peter s Death. 


287 


turned upon her death, to which she looked for- 
ward without fear, and — in spite of various ailments 
and physical discomforts — without impatience. She 
had made all her last dispositions, and had left her 
estate of Soleschau to the convent at whose head 
stood her highly-venerated friend, and at which 
Milada had been educated, who, if it pleased God 
and His representatives on earth, might be destined 
to become the head of the institution which she had 
at one time entered as the poorest of its pupils. 
The needy of the parish were not forgotten in the 
excellent woman’s will, ,and no less any of her serv- 
ants. Last of all, she had thought of herself, and 
that with much detail, and the ceremonies which she 
wished to have observed at her funeral were fully 
particularized. The family vault, which was quite 
delapidated, and for the preservation of which she 
had, on principle, never done anything, was to 
receive her remains, and was then to be walled up, 
and its entrance covered with earth and sod. “ The 
people who are lying there, will be glad to be 
excluded from the present world,” was her opinion ; 
but she decreed that the chapel which crowned the 
mound over the vault was to be kept in good con- 
dition, and constantly open, so that every one whose 
heart might prompt him to say a paternoster for the 


288 


The Child of the Parish, 


old lady of the manor in that sacred place, could 
follow this pious impulse. 

The Baroness now frequently meditated as to 
which of the people, for whom she had done so 
much, would feel the desire to pray for her eternal 
rest, and accustomed herself to apply to every one 
with whom she talked the mental question whether 
he were one of those who would remember her, or 
belonged to those who would forget her. And 
even though the affirmation or negation of her 
suppositions on the subject did not determine her 
valuation of people, they certainly exerted a great 
influence upon it. 

One morning, on the day succeeding Pavel’s last 
visit to the convent, the Baroness was sitting, with 
her work, in the middle of a sofa, which could easily 
have accommodated half a dozen more persons of 
h.er breadth, behind a table quite as long and quite 
as unwieldy, the door of the room opened, and Mat- 
thias entered with the announcement : 

“ That Holub fellow is here again.” 

“ Again ? As far as I know he never comes here,” 
said the old lady, and Matthias replied : 

“Yes — but he’s here now.” 

“ Hem, hem, what does he want ?” 

“ He wants to talk.” 

“To whom ?” 


Peter s Death. 


289 


“ To your Grace.” 

“ Show him in,” ordered the Baroness, and soon 
Pavel’s heavy boots were creaking on the waxed 
floors. 

He wanted to go up to the Baroness and kiss her 
hand, as would have been proper ; but the table 
blocked the way to the sofa, and to push it aside 
would, on the other hand, have been very improper. 
Pavel experienced a painful conflict of duties, 
dropped his hat in his embarrassment, and did not 
venture to pick it up. 

The Baroness beckoned to him to come nearer, 
rose and bent over the table, and sought, as far as 
her increasing dimness of sight permitted, to con- 
vince herself by ocular demonstration that it was 
really Pavel Holub who stood before her. Then 
she sat down again, and asked what had brought 
him there. 

He, meanwhile, had been looking alternately at 
her and at the various knit articles which lay before 
her, evidently awaiting the finishing-touch, and 
which were new and fresh-colored editions of the 
skirts, jackets, and caps worn by the village-children. 
Pleased by the sight, and touched by the industry of 
the frail old woman, he suddenly took courage and 
told his errand. It consisted of the request that her 
Grace would have the goodness to use her influence 


290 


The Child of the Parish. 


that Milada’s service in the convent might be light- 
ened, else she would go beyond her strength, and 
would die. 

“Die! Milada die!” The old lady laughed, was 
indignant, ordered the impertinent blockhead who 
dared to think of such a thing, the unfeeling and 
cruel wretch who would let such a word pass his 
lips to leave the room, and as Pavel, in dismay, was 
about to obey, called him back again, and ordered 
him to explain to her how he had happened to goto 
the convent, and to see Milada. “ But don’t tell me 
any lies, like a gypsy, such as you are,” she added, 
greatly excited. 

Pavel made his report with the greatest brevit3% 
but with an impress of truth which could have left 
only the most obdurate doubter unconvinced. 

The Baroness bent her head lower and lower over 
her knitting, and repented her attacks against Pavel, 
particularly the last. Why had she called him a 
gypsy? Why thus reminded him of the wretched 
roving life which he had been forced to lead in his 
childhood, and at the same time of his father and 
mother, and reproached him with his misfortune? 
Fie, that she should thus have allowed herself to be 
carried away by her vexation at the lad, because he 
had expressed an unfounded apprehension concern- 
ing his sister. Judging from everything that the 


Peter s Death. 


291 


Baroness had heard about him lately, Pavel deserved 
rather praise than blame. Had not Anton, whom 
she trusted fully, said to her : “ Holub was a good- 
for-nothing at one time, but now he’s doing very 
well?” Had not the forester given him the highest 
praise? had not even the curate, who had a decided 
prejudice against him, replied to her inquiry con- 
cerning him : “ Nothing can be said against him ?” 
And she had abused him ! She, who was standing 
on the brink of the grave, who soon would no longer 
have the power of doing good to any one, had given 
pain to one who was sorely enough tried in any 
case ! 

“ Holub,” she suddenl}" said, “ nothing is the mat- 
ter with your sister. Nevertheless, to relieve your 
mind, and mine too, a little, I will drive over to the 
convent to-morrow. For I must confess that your 
imaginary fears have made quite an unpleasant 
impression upon me, and I want to get rid of it as 
soon as I can.” 

Pavel’s face beamed with joy. “ If your Grace,” 
he said, “ would convince yourself of Milada’s looks, 
and, in case you are dissatisfied with them, would 
give orders that she should be better taken care of, 
and not allowed to exert herself beyond her 
strength, as she does, because she has taken it upon 
herself to pray those whose sins are too grievous 


292 


The Child of the Parish. 


out of purgatory— that would be a real kindness, and 
the good God would repay your Grace lor it a 
thousandfold.” 

She smiled and said : “ The Lord would have a 

good deal to do, if He had to redeem all the bills 
drawn on him by unauthorized treasurers.” 

“ True, very true,” replied Pavel, and then as he 
picked up his hat from the floor, he looked about 
the room, and recognized it as the same in which, 
on the day when he had stolen the peacock-feathers, 
he had his first audience at the castle. Involuntarily 
he cast a glance at the thin cord hanging from the 
ceiling, and saw that it was still firm, and that the 
gilded tub had not yet fallen down. Every particu- 
lar of that occurrence came back to him. He 
remembered especially the great repugnance with 
which the Baroness had inspired him, and which 
was in such contrast to the high esteem which he 
entertained for her now. 

What was it that had changed ? Not she, she had 
remained the same; she did not even, to his eyes, 
seem older — an old woman then, an old woman 
now. It was he who was different, who was richer 
inwardly, and no longer blunted, incapable of rever- 
ing anything because he could not recognize that it 
was worthy of reverence. He felt this with tolera- 
ble clearness, and would have liked to express it ; 


Peter s Death. 


293 


but he would also have liked to take his leave, now 
that his business was ended and his petition had 
been offered 'and received in the most favorable 
manner. Without a suspicion that it behooved him 
to wa:t‘until he was dismissed, he said: “I will 
not trouble your Grace any longer now ; I can only 
say a thousand times : God reward your Grace, and 
when you die, [ shall pray for )^ou.” 

“ Indeed !” She sat erect. “ Will you really do 
that, and with all your heart ?” 

“ With all my heart !” 

“ Pavel Holub,” said^the Baroness, in a very kind 
tone, I am glad that you are going to pray for me. 
And now tell me : my field, the one on the edge 
of which your cabin stands, did you ever look at it 
closely ? How large should you take it to be?” 

“ About fifteen metzes, not quite three hectares,”* 
replied Pavel, without hesitation. 

“ A poor field, is it not?” 

“ Yes, all those fields up there are poor. If I 
were the manager, I would never sow wheat there.” 

“ And what then ?” 

“ Oats or rye ; and I would plant cherry-trees, a 
great many of them.” 

“ Plant cherry-trees then,” replied the Baroness, 
gravely and quickly ; “ the field is yours.” 

A hectare Is equal to about 2^ acres, 


294 


The Child of the Parish. 


'‘Mine? What is mine ?” 

“ That field ; I make you a present of it.’’ 

“ For God’s sake — me — that field.” It seemed to 
him as if everything was swaying about, the floor 
beneath his feet, the walls, the sofa and the Baroness 
on the sofa. He stretched out his arms and sought 
for a point of support in the air. “ That large, that 
beautiful, that good field !” 

“ Did you not just say that it was a poor field ?” 

“ For your Grace, but not for me ; for me it is 
good, too good. For God’s sake,” he repeated, “do 
you really give it to me, that field ?” 

The Baroness screwed up her eyes : “ Fm sorry, 

Holub,” she said, “that I can’t see your face quite 
distinctly just now. This growing blind, my dear 
Holub,” she added, with a slight sigh, “ cheats one 
out of many a pleasure. Go now, and send the 
steward to me. I will make arrangements at once 
to have the gift made legally binding.” 

“ Legally binding, your Grace. It is to be mine 
by law?” Pavel was utterly beside himself ; his 
rapture overcame his timidity, he rushed at the 
table, pushed it aside, seized the old lady’s hands 
and kissed them, and when she snatched them away 
with all the force which she could muster, he kissed 
the hem of her dress, her sleeves, and her shawl, 


Peter s Death, 


295 


and moaned and uttered sounds of joy and could not 
speak. 

Courageous though the Baroness was, she was 
rather startled at this storm let loose; she scolded 
Pavel roundly, and declared that all things must 
come to an end, even demonstrations of gratitude, 
and that if he did not go for the steward at once, 
the gift should be null and void. 

This brought him' to himself. The next minute 
he was out in the court-yard. Outside the portal 
stood Slava, feeding the pigeons, who were so tame 
that they did not tur^ out for Pavel, so that he had 
to take care not to step on one of them. Slava bade 
him good morning, and he, forgetting entirely that 
it was his worst enemy who was speaking to him, 
replied : 

“ I have got a field ; the Baroness has given me a 
field.” 

The enemy blushed to the roots of her hair: 
“ That is good news,” she said. “ 1 am glad to hear 
it.” 

Now only he remembered to whom he was talk- 
ing, and hastened away without a good-bye. 

Full though his thoughts were of other, more 
important things, he could not help reflecting that 
that blush had been very becoming to Slava, that 
she was really a very pretty girl, and that it was not 


296 


The Child of the Parish, 


right of Providence to assign so black a soul a 
dwelling in so charming a body. Every unprejudiced 
person must be deceived thereby. Fortunately 
Pavel was not unprejudiced ; he could not be misled 
by appearances. He knew this Slava, and whether 
her lips moved in speaking, or whether — with sweet- 
ness and gentleness playing around them — they rest- 
ed one upon the other, he could not look at them 
without remembering the hour when they had opened 
to draw scorn and mockery upon him, with the cruel 
question : “ Are you going to your father or to 

your mother ?” Forgive them all,” Milada and 
Habrecht had said, and he, surely he was willing to 
do it ; but is not he who is admonished to forgive, 
at the same time reminded of that which he has to 
forgive ? 

It was memory which formed the impassable gulf 
between him and those with whom his dearest ones 
adjured him to make peace. 

The Baroness kept her word ; a deed of her gift 
was executed in due form, and Pavel was an owner 
of real estate. The unheard-of good fortune which 
had fallen to him from the skies, did not, indeed, 
contribute to the decrease of his unpopularity. No 
one rejoiced at it for his sake ; even Arnost, when 
Pavel told him the great news, made a wr}^ face, 
and asked : “ How did that happen?” The forester, 


Peter s Death. 


297 


too, as well as Anton, expressed, at first, more sur- 
prise than sympathy. As for the steward, he took 
the liberty of telling the Baroness frankly that she 
had unfortunately allowed herself to be carried too 
far by her generosity ; that the gift was far too valu- 
able a one, and could not but excite in the villag- 
ers envy towards the recipient, and dissatisfaction 
with the noble giver. 

The Baroness contented herself with taking cog- 
nizance of these expressions of disapprobation from 
her chief official ; but when the curate began to talk 
in the same strain, and spoke of noble, but entirely 
too spontaneous impulses on the part of the Baron- 
ess, she replied : “ That her present to Pavel Holub 
was the fruit of a resolution taken by her a long time 
before, and that it was by no means too generous a 
gift, but one exactly suitable to a youth hitherto 
neglected by Fate, and who was, moreover, the 
brother of the future Superior of a convent-school 
for young ladies. 

Upon this His Reverence was silent. 

The Baroness returned from the convent, after a 
stay of several days, in very good spirits. She sent 
for Pavel, gave him countless greetings from his 
sister, relieved his anxiety about her, and spoke of 
her with boundless love and with boundless pride. 
The old lady grew quite excited in her enthusiasm 


298 The Child of the Parish, 


about “the child.” The good God Himself had 
sent her, the aged, weary pilgrim, this child, in 
order that it should brighten the last years of her 
liTe, and open the gates of Heaven to her ! 

“ Make yourself worthy of such a sister,” she 
enjoined upon Pavel, and he formed the best resolu- 
tions to strive towards this aim, which seemed to 
him the highest that could be imagined, but he 
could not rid himself of a secret doubt as to whether 
he would ever be able to reach it. He struggled 
manfully, however, and it was his fervent wish that 
the Baroness and his sister should hear nothing but 
good of him from henceforth. A great anxiety about 
his reputation began to take possession of him ; a 
longing for praise, a pleasure in appreciation awoke 
within him, and he did not suspect that they made 
him weak as his defiance of mankind and his bold 
indifference to public opinion had made him strong. 

“ Who can say anything against me ?” became his 
standing remark ; one ill-natured look, one harsh 
word, were capable of offending him, who once 
was proof against the coarsest expressions of ill-will ; 
the envy which his property aroused, and which in 
former days would have added to his pleasure in it, 
now spoilt it for him. His field robbed him of rest 
and sleep ; it was a precious torment to him. Each 
time that he came back to it after a short absence. 


Peter s Death, 


299 


it had been damaged in some way, and in order to 
defend it, he could not muster the energy with 
which he had once defended his bricks. He did not 
wish the Baroness to hear that he had been fighting 
again, and, altogether, he preferred not to have her 
know to what degree the present which she had 
given him was being contested. 

Once ne found a part of the scanty wheat grow- 
ing on his field mowed down while still green. 
The next night he watched for the offenders, who 
re-appeared, in fact, in the shape of several women 
and children armed with sickles. Pavel contented 
himself with taking their sickles and grass-cloths 
away from them, and carried these articles to 
the burgomaster the next morning. The latter 
expressed himself much pleased with this lawful 
and considerate proceeding, and promised to fine 
the delinquents, and make them pay the damages. 
Four weeks later, however, the sickles and grass- 
cloths were still lying at the burgomaster’s, because 
the means were wanting to redeem them. Pavel 
finally himself requested that they should be 
returned to their owners, on condition that the 
latter should come to him and thank him. 

This was done only too gladly ; it was a new 
joke, and a capital one, to get off so cheaply, and 
then to go and thank Pavel, the child of the parish. 


300 


The Child of the Parish, 


All those who had taken part in the fun, enjoyed it 
too well not to take an early opportunity of repeat- 
ing the occasion for it. 

The depredations continued, and Pavel still 
opposed very little resistance to them, while in 
other directions he developed a remarkable activ- 
ity. 

He would have liked to multiply himself, to be in 
ten places at once, and have a man at each place. 
He prepared a part of his field for the planting of 
cherry-trees ; he helped the blacksmith whenever 
there was an occasion for it ; the forester, in his 
improvements in the forest, consulted him in pref- 
erence to all others, and expressed the opinion that 
forestry would have been Pavel’s real calling, if he 
had been able to devote himself to it from his early 
youth up. “ And what a capital blacksmith he 
would have made, if he had only been taught some- 
thing,” said Anton. But parish-children are never 
taught anything ; the rudiments are wanting, and it 
is too late now to begin from the beginning. He ’ll 
toil and moil with his field as long as he lives, and 
it won’t amount to anything, after all.” 

This prophecy grieved Pavel, but it could not 
shake his confidence in his field. He engaged old 
Virgil, who had given himself body and soul to his 
foster-son, as he called him, and sat on the thres- 


Peter s Death. 


30 1 


hold beside L’arnour from morning till night, to keep 
watch over his land, and Virgil gladly accepted the 
office, but was no longer capable of discharging 
its duties. Trespass on trespass on Pavel’s property 
was perpetrated before his very eyes. The 
reproaches to which Virgil had to listen in conse- 
quence, were received by him with a crafty, roguish 
smile, as he said : 

“ Pshaw, Pavlicek, what do you care for that 
rubbish? Jt won’t be long before 3 ^ou can throw 
the whole of it at their feet ; you ’ll own very differ- 
ent land soon.” 

Pavel grew angry, reproved him for such talk, 
and turned away quickly to hide the impression 
which it made on him. 

The old man became more and more sprightly, 
his faint flame of life seemed to flare up anew as 
the summer was waning. A miracle at which he 
rejoiced, was about to take place. He, the decrepit 
old man, was going to survive Peter, young and 
strong though he was. Yes, that was the only thing 
that gave him pleasure ; he would survive Peter ! 
The doctor made no secret of having given the latter 
up; every one knew it. Only Vinska would not be- 
lieve it, and the invalid himself said : 

“ 1 shall get well as soon as I can get rid of this 
cough.’' 


302 


TJie Child of the Parish, 


Peter fought with death like a giant ; the nearer 
it drew to him, the more bravely he defended him- 
self. 

“ It’s all no good,” his father-in-law confided to 
every one who would listen ; “ the first frost will 
carry him off; the doctor told me so,” and old Vir- 
gil could hardly wait for the first frost to come. 

Early one morning, in October, the sound of the 
passing bell was heard in the village. There was a 
knock at one of the windows of the pit-cabin, and 
L’amour barked. Pavel started from his sleep ; 
the door of his bed-room had opened. There stood 
Virgil, his face a fiery red, his hands, wound round 
with a rosary, leaning on his stick ; he said : 

“ What do you say, Pavlicek? Vinska is a 
widow.” 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

PAVEL’ S SACRIFICE. 

The winter, this year, came in, from the very 
beginning, with an unusual degree of cold as well as 
with remarkable cleanliness. The snow, which, for 
a whole day and night, had drifted down from thick 
clouds in tiny, dense flakes, remained of a silvery 
whiteness as it lay on the ground ; smooth sleighing 
tracks were formed on the roads, and narrow glitter- 
ing foot-paths ran from house to house, and along the 
edge of the fields. The most frequented of them all 
wound past Pavel’s cabin ; it was the path trodden 
by the wood-cutters as they passed to and fro daily 
between the village and the manor-forest, where 
they were regularly employed at this season. 
When they went to their work in the morning, they 
would find Pavel well started at hisjj and when, at 
evening, they passed on their homeward way, the 
indefatigable fellow seemed just to have arrived at 
the point when industry becomes a supreme enjoy- 
ment, a happy frenzy. They often stopped in front 

[303] 


304 


The Child of the Parish, 


of his garden for a while, and exchanged a few 
words with him. On one occasion, Hanusch — the 
coarsest among the coarse — pretended not to be 
able to make out what sort of a thing it was that 
Pavel was working at. 

“ It 'is the frame of a roof,” explained the latter. 

“ Indeed, are you going to build another pit- 
cabin ?” 

No, he intended to build a stable next spring. 

“ And what are you going to put into it?” 

You’ll see,” was the answer, and Hanusch laughed 
scornfully at Pavel’s mystery, and cried, bending 
his square head to one side, and pointing to the 
others with the mouth-piece of his pipe : 

“ They will see ; 1 know what it will be. Will you 
wager a pot of beer that I know it ?” 

The chuckling of the rest proved that they were 
initiated into the hidden meaning of their compan- 
ion’s assertion. Pavel, however, was but little 
troubled by this miserable chaffing, and, at the most, 
he sent after its originators, when they finally 
took their departure, a calm, “ Go to the devil !” 

On account of the wood-cutters it never would 
have occurred to him to execrate the path which 
led past his house ; but he did execrate it for a 
much more substantial reason. Along this path 
came, at this time, once, even twice a week, pretty 


Pavel's Sacrifice, 


305 


Slava, as a messenger from the Baroness to the 
head-forester. The old gentleman had been ill, was 
gaining strength slowly, and, in order to assist the 
progress of his convalescence, the Baroness sent 
him, day after day, all manner of good things : 
old wine from her cellar, delicate saddles of venison, 
nourishing legs of mutton, and, for the most part, 
Slava was the bearer of these dainties. Pavel 
noticed with annoyance that she retarded her steps 
whenever she reached the neighborhood of his little 
garden, and mustered his establishment with looks 
of curiosity. What was there for her to look at? 
why need she trouble herself about his house and 
garden? She certainly could have no good intention 
in doing so. He took pleasure in nourishing his 
prejudice against her ; among other things, he per- 
suaded himself that she had been the leader of the 
children who had, at one time, trampled on his 
bricks. He had not, indeed, succeeded in taking 
her in the act, but that did not prove her innocence ; 
it merely proved that she had managed to escape in 
time, faithlessly deserting, at the decisive moment, 
those whom she had led astray. As she had done 
by her accomplices, so, hundreds and hundreds of 
times, the associates of his boyish pranks had done 
by him : he knew what it was to be left in the lurch. 
Late in the day though it was, he would have liked 


3o6 


The Child of the Parish, 


nothing better than to obtain some satisfaction for 
the betrayed ones, even though it consisted of nothing 
but a severe reproof administered to the traitress. 
Generally, when Pavel saw Slava coming in the dis- 
tance, he became so entirely absorbed in his occupa- 
tion, that there seemed to be nothing sufficiently 
important to warrant interrupting him in it. 

Once, however, he made an exception. 

There she was coming along, the witch, with her 
basket on her arm, light of foot, and surrounded by 
a flood of sunshine ; she wore a woolen kerchief 
tied about her face, which the cold air had tinged 
with red, a well-wadded and yet extremely dainty 
jacket, a full skirt, reaching to her ankles, blue, 
sprinkled over with tiny white stars, and high boots 
on her slender feet, beneath which the snow crackled. 
And she was so bright and cheery, that it would 
have been a pleasure to look at her, if one’s heart 
had not been full of bitterness against her. 

Arrived at the fence surrounding the pit-cabin, 
she slackened her pace, as was her wont, and looked 
at the house from the bottom to the top. 

Suddenly Pavel rose up from his work, threw 
down his hoe, and approaching the girl, said : 

“ What are you looking at C 

And she, surprised, but not in the least alarmed, 
turned very red, and replied : 


307 


Pave Vs Sacrifice. 

“ What should I be looking at?” 

“ Nothing,” answered Pavel, harshly ; “ you ’re not 
to look at all, you ’re to go on.” 

This, however, seemed by no means to be her 
intention ; but, on the contrary, she had come nearer 
to the fence, and as Pavel, on his part, had done 
likewise, they stood quite close to each other. She, 
in all the confidence of her beauty, her youth, her 
happy disposition : he biased by his bitterness 
against her, against her deceptive grace and love- 
liness. 

Slava had placed the basket on the ground beside 
her, and watched it constantly, as if she feared that 
it would run away the moment she took her eyes off 
it ; and thus, with drooping lids and slightly trem- 
bling lips, she said : 

“ 1 look at the house, because I don’t dare to look 
at you.” 

Pavel contracted his eyebrows, and muttered 
something about a “ guilty conscience.” 

She colored again. 

“ Who has a guilty conscience?” 

“ The one who asks.” 

“ 1 ? Why should I have a guilty conscience ?” 

The feigned honesty with which this question was 
put roused Pavel’s anger, and while a thousand 


3o8 The Child of the Parish. 

burning expressions for it crowded to his lips, he 
clumsily blurted out the weakest, the most childish : 

“ Did you not trample on my bricks?” 

The girl raised her eyes and fixed a full, clear 
glance upon him : 

“ When should I have done that ? 1 never did 

that.” 

“ Don’t lie !” he said, peremptorily. 

“ I am not lying,” she replied ; “ why should I lie ? 
I did not do it, and that ’s the whole of it.” 

He believed her, he could not do otherwise than 
believe her, and, already somewhat pacified, he con- 
tinued : 

“ Did you not run after me with a stone in your 
hand ?” 

“ But, Pavel, why should you remember such a 
thing as that, done by a foolish child ? Think of all 
that you did in those days,” she waved her hand in 
the air with a slight and graceful motion. “ Such 
things had better be forgotten. Please, Pavel, 
forget it.” 

He was silent ; he felt a kind of shame at his all 
too faithful memory. Was she not right? Such 
things had better be forgotten. Milada had spoken 
of forgiveness, even of gratitude to those through 
whom our trials come to us ; but never of forgetting 
the offence. To tell him of that, the most radical 


Pavel's Sacrifice. 


309 


of all' curative remedies, it had needed this little 
good-for-nothing enemy. 

She said a few more pleasant words, bent down, 
took up her basket, and went her way. 

Pavel remained alone with L’amour, with his 
work, and his thoughts. Forget, and then you need 
not forgive ! Forget, and then you will have no 
reason to be proud of having forgiven. If one could 
only do it ! He remembered that he had done it 
once, in the case of his fair opponent, at the time 
when he came rushing out of the castle, full of hap- 
piness at the valuable present which he had just 
received from the Baroness, and if he had succeeded 
in it once, by accident and unintentionally, could he 
not do so again, voluntarily and after due reflection ? 

On her next expedition to the forester’s house 
Slava again made a short stop at Pavel’s house, and 
his first question to her was : 

“ If you had no guilty conscience as far as I am 
concerned, why were you afraid to look at me ?” 

“ Because you were always so cross, and made 
such dreadful eyes at me. I don’t like that ; I like 
people to be cheerful and look at me kindly.” 

By “ people,” she did not by any means intend to 
designate him alone ; she meant every one. Pavel 
was not long in doubt about that. There was a lit- 
tle imp of merriment within her, that impelled her 


310 


The Child of the Parish, 


to wage war with gravity wherever she came in con- 
tact with it; and it was this merriment, which could 
sometimes almost reach the bounds of romping gay- 
cty, together with the high honor in which she held 
her dainty little person, and her modest, maidenly 
ways, which constituted the charm which she exer- 
cised over young and old. 

There was no one, however, upon whom it acted 
more irresistibly than upon Arnost ; she had fairly 
ensnared him, and he did not conceal from Pavel 
either the torments of his love or his jealousy of 
him. Reasonable fellow that he was, and endowed 
with much practical good sense, he found nothing 
more natural than that Slava should prefer the 
owner of a house and of a field to him, who possessed 
merely a house and the small plot of parish land be- 
longing to it. 

That Pavel intended to enter the ranks of the com- 
petitors for the favor or the hand of the pretty girl, 
seemed to Arnost such a matter of course, that he did 
not even ask him about it ; and his friend, to whom he 
intimated something of the kind, and who had been 
about to say: ‘‘ You are a fool; I’m not thinking of 
her; she is perfectly indifferent to me,” left the 
words unspoken, for — he did not wish to tell a lie. 

She was not indifferent to him ; she had bewitched 
him, too. Not as she had Arnost ; there was no 


Pavel 's Sacrifice, 3 1 1 

question of being blindly in love in his case, but his 
heart grew warm in her presence, and she pleased 
him exceedingly, and he would have been only too 
glad if he could have gotten rid of the doubt which 
presented itself again and again to his mind when he 
was with her, and a certain anxious, indefinite 
expectation : “ Now she’s going to do something 
that will strike at my heart, and spoil my pleasure 
in her.” 

Another doubt, which had formerly troubled 
him sorely, had left him entirely, it was this: “ Will 
a decent girl be willing to take me? will a decent 
girl be willing to live under one roof with my 
mother?” Well, Slava was a decent girl, and let 
him see pretty plainly that she would take him, 
although she knew very well that his mother might 
return any day and find a home with her son. She 
asked after her from time to time, and on one occa- 
sion remarked : 

A mother is always a mother ; if we only have 
one, it’s no matter how she is. I have no mother.” 

Pavel now invariably greeted her very courteous- 
1}^ never “ made dreadful eyes ” at her any more, 
but, however inwardly agitated he was, maintained 
the utmost reserve towards the girl ; while Arnost, 
in her presence, almost melted away in tenderness, 
or flared up in flames. The ardent lover was always 


312 


The Child of the Parish, 


exceedingly well informed of all her movements, 
and it invariably proved to be the case that on the 
days when she had to take a message to the forest- 
er’s house, he “just happened to have nothing to 
do,” and could place himself at Pavel’s disposal to 
help him with his work. When she whom they 
expected arrived, she found the two leaning on the 
fence and awaiting her. Which of them did so with 
greater longing, whether it was the grave, reticent 
one, or the other, she herself did not know. She 
was equally cordial, equally friendly towards both, 
but talked more with Arnost, because he was more 
given to chaffing and joking. 

After Christmas Slava one day brought from the 
castle a piece of intelligence by which Pavel’s anx- 
iety about his sister, which had been lulled to sleep, 
was rudely awakened. Milada had been ill ; the 
Baroness had lately paid a visit to the convent, and 
had returned home relieved in mind. Milada was 
better, was quite well again, she assured Pavel. 
Nevertheless, she had not found it eas}'- to part from 
“her child,” expected soon to return to her, and 
would then spend several weeks at the convent as the 
guest of the Superior. Before that, however — she 
sent word to Pavel— she wished to speak to him. 

He hastened so avail himself of the permission, 
found the old lady depressed and anxious, and 


Pavel's Sacrifice. 313 

exerting herself the more, the more she felt so, to 
win peace for herself, and not disturb that of others. 

The Baroness promised Pavel to obtain for him, 
immediately upon her arrival in town, an interview 
with his sister, and demanded of him, in return, the 
promise that he would not take any steps on his 
own account towards securing one. 

He wrote to Milada, received a few sweet com- 
forting words in reply, waited for the departure of 
the Baroness, and, when that took place, for the 
summons to his sister. His heart was heavy to 
bursting, and only grew somewhat lighter when he 
was permitted to refresh himself by the sight of the 
lovely girl to whom he and Arnost had given the 
name of “ the Oriole.” 

The time came when he began to think it foolish 
to struggle any longer against the attachment which 
was taking possession of his heart. He did not 
flatter himself that Slava loved him deeply ; but he 
did not doubt, on the other hand, that if both he 
and Arnost wooed her, she would give him the pref- 
erence, and, once married, would be as good a wife 
as she had been a good girl. The thought of giv- 
ing up all claim to her from consideration for his 
friend, had, in the beginning, crossed his mind 
repeatedly ; but these impulses of generosity had 


The Child of the Parish. 


314 


decreased in frequency in proportion as his liking 
for the pretty creature grew stronger. 

Towards Arnost he was as frank as the latter was 
to him. 

“ Much as you love her,” said Arnost, “ I love her 
more.” 

“ What good does that do, if she takes me,” was 
Pavel’s reply. “ And I am going to ask her soon ; 
I want to be happy, too, for once.” 

“Ask her,” Arnost answered. “Ask her.” His 
mind was made up. On the day on which Slava 
accepted Pavel, he would sell the cabin in which he 
had lived alone since his mother’s death, and 
become a soldier. A military life is not a bad one, 
particularly for one who, like Arnost, had received 
a commission after two months of service. 

One foggy January morning he came to Pavel in 
the greatest excitement and informed him that 
Slava would make her last visit to the head-forester 
that day, that the latter was well again, and no 
more dainties would be sent to him from the castle. 

Cold sweat stood on Arnost’s forehead ; his heart 
beat wildly. “ I can’t stand it any longer,” he said. 
“ To-day either you must speak, or 1.” 

“ Speak then,” replied Pavel ; “ but I shall speak, 
too.” 

They looked at each other with eyes flashing with 


PaveVs Sacrifice. ' 


3^5 


hatred, and paced to and fro behind the fence like 
two caged lions. L’amour sat on the threshold, 
black and ugly, and observed with silent contempt 
the two sons of men whom passion was consuming. 

Just then a ray of sunshine penetrated the White 
mist which lay upon the fields and roads, and turned 
it into a glistening, rainbow-colored vapor, wrapped 
in the transparent folds of which little Slava was 
seen approachiug. And on this day, just on this 
day, when the hostile friends desired to speak a 
word with her in confidence, she was not alone. 

She had brought a companion with her — Vinska. 

Arnost and Pavel discovered this at the same 
time, and the first cried and the second muttered : 
“ Confound it !” 

A short distance behind Vinska and the young 
girl came the band of wood-cutters. They were 
unusually late in going to their work, because the 
day before had been Sunday, and because a wood- 
cutter who has any respect for himself always 
“ quits work Monday morning,” as Hanusch was 
wont to say. 

Vinska seemed to think it necessary to explain her 
presence by the fact that she was obliged to see the 
head-forester about the purchase of some timber, 
and had joined Slava because it was always pleas- 
anter to walk in company. 


316 


The Child of the Parish, 


Arnost took up the idea at once, and agreed with 
her, and, staring at her companion, stammered some 
confused words about the folly of not recognizing 
that, but preferring to travel on alone through life, 
rather than in the company of some one who loves 
us better than anything else in the world. 

Pavel whispered to him angrily : “ Speak, if you 

dare !” and when his first annoyance at Vinska’s 
presence had passed away, he invited her and Slava 
to enter his house and rest awhile. At the same time 
he opened the gate, and, when they had entered the 
garden, bade them welcome, not without a certain 
dignity as the master of the house. 

This act of courtesy was performed in sight of 
the approaching wood-cutters, and gave the coarse 
fellows occasion for comments of the most outrag- 
eous kind. 

Pavel could find no answer to these, and, with 
suppressed rage, shouted to the wood-cutters, with- 
out moving from the spot: “Begone !” 

They replied with coarse gibes, worse than aii}^ 
which had preceded them, and Hanusch, leaning 
against the fence lazily, with his pipe between his 
teeth, pretended to be looking attentively at the roof- 
frame which was lying in the garden, and said : 

“ That’s finished now, so you can begin to build 
the stable, Go on, and build it, and hurr^ with it ; 


3^7 


Pavers Sacrifice, 


she whom you are going to put into it is on her way 
home now, she from the State’s prison !” 

“ She, yes — she !” the chorus fell in, and Hanusch 
roared, so that the veins in his neck were swollen 
almost to bursting. 

“ You might as well take him, you women! You 
need n’t be afraid of the mother-in-law from State’s 
prison ; she’ll be put in the stable, the mother will 1” 

He repented of his words. 

Pavel had risen to his full height ; from his breast 
there issued a horrible groan, his lips were covered 
with blood from the lip which he had bitten through. 
For one moment he glared. There stood the woman 
whom he had loved — there stood the girl whom he 
loved now. There the honest fellow with whom he 
was contending for her, and there by the fence the 
scoundrel who had offered him in her presence an 
insult which could never be wiped out ; and on the 
ground, at his feet, lay his good carpenter’s axe. 
The duration of a flash of lightning, and he had 
seized it and thrown it. Hanusch uttered a shriek, 
and cast himself to one side. The axe, which had 
been aimed at his head, flew past him within a hair s- 
breadth of his ear. All screamed. Pavel pushed 
Vinska aside, who tried to intercept him, sprang 
over the fence, and into the midst of the wood-cut- 
ters. 


The Child of the Parish. 


318 


He looked so terrible, so boundless a fury flashed 
from his eyes, that the whole band retreated before 
him ; Hanusch, with his hand at his ear, farthest of 
all. But the next moment he had been reached and 
brought to bay by one who was even quicker than 
Pavel. L’amour had uttered an ominous growl, 
thrown himself in front of his master, and seized 
Hanusch by the throat. The latter slipped, reeled, 
and fell to the ground just in front of Pavel, his pro- 
truding eyes fixed upon him in despairing terror. 
Pavel had already rais.ed his foot, to crush the 
mouth which had thus dishonored him. Suddenly, 
however, as if seized with a loathing and horror, and 
pale as death, he stamped on the ground, and cried: 
“ Back, L’amour !” 

Very reluctantly the dog loosed his prey. Han- 
usch rose with difficulty, his companions -seemed 
about to attack Pavel in a body, but changed their 
minds. They parleyed for awhile with Arnost, 
while Pavel stood at one side, brooding gloomily, 
and finally, having grown somewhat crest-fallen, they 
went their way. 

Those who remained behind formed a small, 
silent group. Pavel seemed to have no inclination 
to speak first. He had gone to the door of the 
cabin, and was looking down at his dog, who re- 
turned his glance gravely and sympathetically. 


Pavel^s Sacrijice, 


319 


Some time passed before Slava mustered the cour- 
age to remind Pavel of the invitation given a while 
ago. He renewed it in a low tone, and gave the 
girl — whose face still bore the traces of the fright 
she had undergone — a sad, constrained smile. They 
went into the house, and into the sitting-room with 
the low ceiling, the small windows, and the floor of 
trodden clay, which had been furnished by Hab- 
recht’s generosity. The table stood in the middle 
of the room, as it had stood in the master’s room, 
the old easy-chair and three other chairs were placed 
around it. In the corner, opposite the fire-place, 
stood the narrow book-case, which contained the 
sacred treasure of the house, Pavel’s most precious 
legacy, the books, in which Habrecht had enjoined 
upon his pupil to read constantly. And not in vain ; 
the modest volumes showed distinctly that they 
were often handled, even though with careful rever- 
ence. 

Vinska seated herself in the arm-chair ; Slava took 
the chair beside her. The former was silent ; the 
latter made some complimentary remarks about the 
neatness which pervaded the house, but soon ceased, 
disconcerted by the grave looks of the other three. 

Arnost had approached Pavel, and had whispered 
a few words to him ; but Pavel shook his head, had 


320 


The Child of the Parish. 


not stirred since, and stood as if rooted to the spot, 
wrapped in gloomy thoughts. 

For a long time Arnost controlled himself, but 
finally his impatience conquered ; he seized Pavel 
by the shoulder, and said : 

“ What are you fretting about? Stop that now. 
What do you care for the talk of those drunken 
fellows ?” 

“ Yes,” Slava joined in, with her clear voice, 
“ what do you care for that? Let people say what 
they want to, and let us talk about something cheer- 
ful ?” 

Pavel listened — so sweet a voice, and yet it could 
awaken a discord. 

‘‘About something cheerful? Very well, that’s 
just what I’ve been thinking, too.” 

He laughed a dry and bitter laugh, came to the 
table, and turned to Slava : 

“ 1 have something to say for him,” he said, “ for 
Arnost. We agreed long ago that I should ask you 
if you would marry him ?” 

“ Don’t make any bad jokes,” cried Arnost, 
roughly; “what do you mean by that?” and Pavel 
retorted, still more roughly : 

“ Don’t you want to court her any longer? Has 
your love come to an end already ?” 

“ Oh, as far as love is concerned — ” 


Pavel's Sacrifice, 


321 


The tone in which these words were spoken 
settled the question beyond a doubt. 

A quarter of an hour later an affianced couple left 
Pavel’s cabin ; the lover in transports, the girl 
quietly content. She liked Arnost better than 
Pavel, but she would have liked him still better if 
he had been the possessor of Pavel’s field. 

Vinska left with the lovers, with whom she was 
going to the forester’s. At the gate she let the 
young people go on, stopped, and said to Pavel : 

“ What does this mean ? It has been said \\\ 2 Xyoti 
liked Slava ?” 

“ I do like her,” he cried, and his self-control was 
at an end ; “ but how can I marry ; how can I take a 
wife, 1, to whom it may happen any day, before 1 
know it, that I have to kill some one, because I can- 
not help myself in any other way ! I was made to 
live in shame ; that’s what I was born for. But they 
wanted to make something better of me, — the master 
and my sister Milada, — and now I’ve lost my liking 
for shame, and I can’t stand it any longer ; that is 
my misfortune.” 

After a pause, during which Vinska kept her eyes 
firmly fixed on the ground, she said : “You went to 
the grave with my poor Peter. I have not been 
able to thank you yet, because you always avoided 


me. 


322 


The Child of the Parish. 


He shrugged his shoulders and said : “ 1 shall not 
avoid you any more. Farewell.” 

“ Dear Pavel,” she began again, after another 
pause : “Before I go, 1 must tell you something. 1 
have no peace ; people do not let me have any peace. 
My poor Peter has been dead only three months, 
and yet I have had two offers of marriage.” 

“ Accept one of them, then.” 

“ 1 think,” said Vinska, after having looked down 
at the snow for a while, “ that I shall remain a 
widow.” 

“ Remain a widow, then. Farewell.” 

She was about to go on, but turned to him once 
more, and began anew, in a depressed voice : “ It is 
easy for you to say ‘ Farewell,’ but when one has 
done any one such wrong as I have done you, one 
can’t fare very well.” 

“ You need not trouble yourself about that,” he 
said, calmly. “ I have forgotten all about it long 
ago.” 

She bowed her head, an expression of pain 
hovered around her lips. “And you,” she asked, 
“are you really going to remain unmarried ?” 

“Yes,” he replied. “I shall remain the lonely 
man whom you all have made of me.” 



CHAPTER XIX. 

THE mother’s return. 

The intelligence which Pavel expected to receive 
from town reached him, but proved very unsatis- 
factory. The Baroness sent him word that he 
could not yet be allowed to visit his sister ; the rea- 
son would be given him later, and in the meantime 
he must be patient. 

Soon after, he received a letter from Milada, in 
which she begged Pavel to defer his coming. In 
the most affectionate manner she thanked him in 
advance for fulfilling her request, expressed the 
hope of being able to see him in the Spring, assured 
him that she was improving daily, and closed with 
the intelligence that her taking of the veil, to which 
she was looking forward with unspeakable joy, 
would occur in May. 

So Pavel had to wait patiently, and tried to do so; 
but it was not easy for him. At least once a week 
he went to the castle and asked : “ Has her Grace 

[323] 


324 


The Child of the Parish. 


come back?” and the answer was invariably: 
“No!” “Has she not written either?” “Yes, 
but only to give orders, which shows that she has 
postponed her return again.” 

She had expressed her approbation of Slava’s 
intended marriage, of which the girl had notified 
her, as in duty bound, and had sent her the dismissal 
asked for, as well as a present in money, which suf- 
ficed not only to defray the expenses of the wedding, 
but also to lay by a snug little sum for the house- 
hold. She did all this, because Slava, though an 
orphan and dependent upon herself from her earliest 
youth, had always conducted herself well, and could 
now go to the altar with an untarnished reputation. 

On the third Sunday after Easter the wedding 
took place. Pavel acted as groomsman. He made 
up his mind to do so very reluctantly, but finally 
filled the position with dignity, and with pride in 
his self-conquest. Anton the blacksmith represented 
the father of the bride; Vinska the mother. In 
spite of the great widow’s shawl which she had 
drawn over her head, the latter was handsomer than 
the bride herself. The curate addressed the bridal 
couple with unusual warmth, and honored them by 
his presence at the wedding-dinner at the inn. The 
doctor, the steward, the forester, the burgomaster, 
and some of the richest peasants all came to bring 


The Mother s Return. 


325 


their congratulations, and receive the thanks of the 
young couple for the presents they had sent them. 
The affair went off without any indecent tumult, and, 
though simple, was “ thoroughly genteel.” 

After dinner, there was dancing, and then some- 
thing amazing happened. Virgil, who for four 
years past had been able only to creep along, led 
out an old serving- woman of about his own age, 
and the two started a redowatchka. When the 
band, at his bidding, struck up the music of that 
dance, long since out of fashion, the faces of all the 
old people present began to beam. The men rose, 
each one beckoned to “ his old woman,” they took 
hold of each other’s horny hands, and swung in the 
dance behind the herdsman and his gray-haired 
partner. Once more they met in cheerful harmony, 
these old couples, who perhaps for a long time past 
had known nothing but wrangling or indifference. 
Around the faded lips of many of a woman among 
them there played a coy smile, the dim eye of 
many a man flashed boldy once again. Thebeloved 
redowa reminded them of the days when they were 
young, and they danced it through to the end amid 
the applause of their children and grandchildren. 

Many a pretty girl had smiled at Pavel, and said : 

“ What ’s the matter with you, can't you dance ?” 


The Child of the Parish, 


326 


“ I don’t know,” he would answer, “ I never tried.” 

Try now, then.” 

But he would not do that ; nothing in the world 
could induce him to make himself ridiculous here, 
before so large an assembly ; he remained firm, and 
even withstood the entreaties of Slava, who insisted 
on his dancing with her at least once, on this her day 
of honor. 

His example in renunciation was followed by 
Vinska. She even threatened to leave the company 
when the most impetuous of her suitors tried to 
force her to take the floor with him. Pavel and she 
occasionally exchanged a few words ; he, if not in 
friendship, yet in peace ; she, with deep gratitude, 
that he had done more than forgive her, that he had 
forgotten. 

And so it was ; with his love for her, the memory 
of the suffering which he had experienced through 
her had died out. And if, he said to himself, he had 
succeeded in conquering this first love, — which had 
rooted in his innermost being, and had grown and 
strengthened with him,— ought it not to be an easy 
matter for him to gain the victory over the second, 
which had blossomed on his tree of life over night ? 
A few painful emotions would still have to be over- 
come, and then he would be a free man — for all 
time, if it be the will of God — lonely and free. And 


The Mother s Return. 


327 


to his enjoyment of this freedom everything con- 
tributed on this occasion. The day was a day of 
honor not only for Arnost and Slava, but for him as 
well. For the first time Pavel was under one roof 
with those whom he most highly esteemed, on equal 
terms with them. The most important of the peas- 
ants greeted him cordially, the forester talked to 
him for a long time with paternal kindness, the 
curate asked his opinion on an agricultural question, 
the blacksmith insisted on making public the story 
of the steam-motor, and could only be deterred from 
doing so from consideration for Vinska. Arnost 
assured him loudly and enthusiastically of his grati- 
tude and eternal friendship. 

The child of the parish moved in an atmosphere 
of esteem and good-will, which he absorbed through 
every pore, and enjoyed the more deeply, because 
of the faint voice within him that said : “ Make the 
most of this hour, you may never have another like 
it.” There will be an end to the esteem, to the 
goodwill, when his mother comes. And she may 
come to-morrow — who knows? she may have come 
already. He may find her, when he goes home, in 
his room, by his fireside. 

And suddenly, in the midst of his troubled happi- 
ness, there came over him an irresistible impulse : 
“ Away ! Leave your cabin and your field to your 


The Child of the Parish. 


328 

mother, and go away, far, far out into the world, 
among strangers, before whom you need feel no 
shame in learning. Learn, achieve, and grow to be 
— even though later than others — nioret\\2in others.’' 

These thoughts clung to him, accompanied him to 
his home, were his last before he fell asleep, and his 
first when he awoke. 

But in the morning, when he went to look at the 
cherry-trees which he had planted in the autumn, 
and saw how the greater part of them had already 
begun to put forth blossoms upon blossoms, and 
when he walked around his field, on which the first 
grain sowed by him was coming up finely, he felt 
that it would be hard to part, after all. If Milada, if 
Habrecht, could have known the thoughts of flight 
which he had harbored, what would they say ? 

“ My boy, even in your small sphere you can work 
silently and in secret for the general good.” 

This was one of the many sayings of his friend, the 
master, which, at the moment when they were 
uttered, fell upon Pavel’s comprehension like the 
seed of the gospel upon the rock. Now, however, 
his soul no longer resembled the stony places, but 
the good ground, and the seed sprouted and sprang 
up, and with it a multitude of thoughts. 

A voice, calling his name, suddenly roused Pavel 
from his reflections ; a stable-boy from the castle 


The Mother s Return, 


329 


came running towards him, beckoned to him from a 
distance, and cried : 

“ Our lady has sent a messenger to tell you to 
come to her in town at once ; you Ve to ride.” 

“ Why, I can walk,” replied Pavel, whom surprise, 
joy and alarm caused to turn first hot and then cold ; 
“ why should I ride ?” 

“ So as to get there more quickly, probably ; but 
hurry, they are harnessing the horses.” 

Pavel changed his clothes hastily, and ran to the 
castle. A light wagon with a pair of strong farm- 
horses was waiting for him, and he soon reached the 
city and the door of the convent, where the portress 
received him with the words : 

“ I have orders to conduct you to the Baroness.” 

“Is my sister with her? How is my sister?” 
asked Pavel, breathlessly. 

The nun did not answer, but went on before him 
up a flight of stairs, along a passage decorated with 
paintings, at the end of which, opposite a double 
door, there was an image of the crucified Christ as 
large as life. 

“ How is my sister?” repeated Pavel. 

The portress pointed to the head of the Redeemer, 
with its crown of thorns, and said : 

“ Think of His sufferings.” Then she opened the 
door and bade him enter, Pavel obeyed, and found 


330 


The Child of the Parish. 


himself in a solemn, hall-like apartment, in which 
stood the Baroness and the Mother Superior, the 
old lady leaning on the arm of her friend. 

“God’s greeting to you,” said the Reverend 
Mother ; the Baroness tried to speak, but could not, 
and burst into tears. 

Pavel, too, could only stammer : “ For God’s sake, 
for God’s sake, what about my sister? is she ill?” 

“ She is well,” said the Superior. “ She has entered 
into eternal rest.” 

Pavel stared at her with a look of anguish and of 
wrath, before which her beautiful calm eyes fell. 

“What does this mean?” he cried aloud in his 
agony. 

At this the little old lady dropped the arm of her 
strong friend, and tottered towards Pavel with out- 
stretched, trembling hands. 

“ Poor boy,” she sobbed, “ your sister is dead ; my 
darling child has gone on before me, poor weary 
old woman that I am !” 

Her knees failed her, she was on the point of fall- 
ing ; Pavel caught her, and the poor old lady wept 
upon his bosom. 

He led her carefully to a chair, and helped her 
seat herself in it ; then, trembling all over, he 
turned to the Superior: “ Why did my sister write 
me that she was improving daily ?” 


The Mother s Return. 


331 


“ She believed it, and we allowed her to believe it 
until the time came to prepare her for the extreme 
unction — ” she hesitated. 

“Prepare her?" repeated Pavel, and pressed his 
hand to his dry, burning eyes. “ So she knew that 
she was going to die ?’’ 

The Superior made a sign of assent. 

“ And did she not say that she wanted to see me ; 
did ^he not say : ‘ I want to see my brother once 
more ?’ Dear lady," he addressed the Baroness, 
raising his voice, “ did she not say : ‘ I want to see 
my brother once more ?’ " 

“ She sent you a thousand greetings and blessings, 
but she did not ask to see you," was the answer ; 
and the Reverend Mother added : 

“ She had done with everying earthly, she already 
belonged to Heaven. She had a glimpse of it in 
her last hour, saw God in His glory, and heard the 
jubilant songs of the angelic choir, who welcomed 
her to the realms of the blest." 

“When did she die?" asked Pavel, with half- 
choked utterance. 

“ Last evening." 

Last evening, — while he was in the midst of 
gayety, while his thoughts were so far from her! 
A wild doubt seized him. “ It cannot be, it is 


o 

00 ^ 


The Child of the Pa^'ish, 


impossible !” And he cried : Where is she? Take 
me to her !” 

She has not yet been put upon the bier/' replied 
the Superior. But Pavel would listen to no objec- 
tions, and she who was wont to command, to rule, 
yielded to him. 

They ascended the stairs to the second floor, and 
went along a passage upon which many doors 
opened. At one of these the Superior stopped. 

“ Maria’s room,” she said, deeply agitated. 

Pavel rushed forward and tore the door open. 
In the white-washed cell with the grated window 
and the bare walls, into which the sun was stream- 
ing, there stood a narrow bed ; a wax-taper in a 
black iron candlestick was burning at its head, 
another at its feet, and beside it knelt two nuns, 
absorbed in prayer. On the bed lay, covered with 
a sheet, a slender, rigid corpse. The Superior 
approached it, and drew the sheet from the face. 

Pavel started back, reeled, and fell against the 
door-post, where he remained standing, and writhed 
like one undergoing torture. At last, at last tears 
burst from his eyes, and he cried ; “ That is not my 
Milada ! this was never she. Where is my Milada ?” 

He was not to be quieted, his grief mocked at all 
consolation. 

The Baroness sent for him, wept, spoke of 


The Mother s Retur7i, 


333 


Milada, and he could not find it in his heart to say 
to her, what he was thinking incessantly : “ If she 
had been taken from the convent at the right time, 
she would be alive now ; you would have your 
child still, and I my shining example, my most 
precious treasure !” 

At the wish of the old lady he remained in town 
till the day of the funeral, wandered about the 
streets, and was made powerless against his grief 
by his enforced idleness. 

“ Milada, my darling sister,” he would say to him- 
self, and sometimes he stopped short, and it seemed 
to him as if some one must come after him and say 
to him : “ Turn back, she is alive, she is asking for 

you. That little shriveled dead face that you have 
seen was not Milada’s.” 

When she lay in state in the chapel, in the light 
of a hundred wax-tapers, dressed in white, and 
covered with white roses, he could not be induced 
to approach the catafalque. It was only when the 
coffin was closed which held the remains of his 
Milada, that he threw himself upon it, and prayed, 
not for her, but to her. 

At the funeral the grief of his old friend, the Bar- 
oness, made him almost insensible to his own. Utterly; 
broken-hearted, she stood beside him at the graye; 
of her darling, in the quiet convent cemetery, and 


334 


The Child of the Parish, 


when the ceremony was concluded, allowed the pro- 
cession of nuns to pass by her without joining it. It 
was only after a while that she said to Pavel : 

“ Take me to my room now, and then go home 
and tell them at the castle to prepare everything for 
my return. And to do so properly ; it will probably 
be the last trouble which I shall give my people. I 
believe I shall only reach home in time to lay me 
down and die.” 

Pavel did not contradict her. He felt, distinctly, 
that no contradiction was expected, as is so often 
the case with old people, when they allude to their 
approaching death ; the remark was meant seriously, 
and he accepted it in the same spirit. 

Late in the afternoon he reached the village. He 
went directly to the castle, in order to deliver the 
message of the Baroness. The servants flocked 
together when they heard that he had come ; all 
looked at him full of curiosity, and he hastened 
away, fearing that they might ask him questions 
about Milada. On the road to the village he was 
the object of the same attention which he had 
attracted at the castle. One or another of those 
whom he met stopped with the evident intention of 
speaking to him, but Pavel hastened past them with 
a brief salute. 

In Vinska’s yard, on a bench, sat Virgil, who. 


The Mother s Return. 


335 


since Peter’s death, had taken up his quarters per- 
manently with his daughter. He beckoned to 
Pavel to come nearer. “ So you’ve come at last ?” 
he called to him. Look here, your dog would 
have starved if I had n’t looked after him.” 

“ I depended on your doing it,” said Pavel, and 
was about to pass on. Virgil, however, shouted at 
the top of his voice : 

“ Don’t run so, wait! Vinska has got something 
to tell you,” and at the same moment the latter 
came out of her door, went to Pavel, and said to him 
in the humble manner in which she now invariably 
conducted herself towards him : 

‘‘ We have heard of your misfortune ; we are 
very sorry.” 

“ Let it be, let it be,” he interrupted her. 

Tell him the other thing,” cried Virgil, full of 
impatience. 

Vinska turned pale. “ Dear Pavel,” she com- 
menced, “ dear Pavel, your mother has come.” 

He winced. Where is she ?” he asked. “ At my 
house ?” 

“ No ; she would not enter your house before you 
came. She would not come to me, either,” she 
added. 

“ Did you invite her?” 

“ Yes, 1 invited her to come to me and wait here 


33 ^ 


The Child of the Parish, 


for your return. She would not do it, however ; she 
is at the inn. But she has asked about you, and 
could not hear enough about you. And she is up 
at your house from morning till night. She must be 
there now.” 

Pavel felt as if a huge piece of ice had fallen upon 
his breast. “Very well,” he muttered. “Ill go 
then !” But he did not stir. His restlessly wander- 
ing gaze met that of Vinska, which rested in anxious 
suspense upon his features, and suddenly he said : 

“ I thank you for having invited her.” 

“You are welcome,” she answered. 

The hearts of both beat audibly, each one read 
plainly in the soul of the other. She no longer 
found in his the old love, but the old resentment 
was gone as well ; hers was filled to its uttermost 
depths with bitter, unavailing remorse, proceeding 
from the consciousness: 

“ What I have sinned against you it is impossible 
for me ever to atone for.” 

Without exchanging another word, they parted. 

Pavel slowly went up the village street. The sun 
was just setting behind the wooded hills, sharply 
and clearly the tops of the pines were defined 
against the crimson atmosphere. Clear shadows 
had spread themselves over the pit-cabin, they 
glided oyer his humble roof, dimmed the brightness 


The Mother s Return, 


337 


of his small window-panes, and hovered around a 
tall figure which was standing in front of the gar- 
den, absorbed in the view of the sunset. 

My mother !” Pavel said to himself, ** my 
mother 1” 

There she stood, unbowed by the burden of the 
last ten years, unbroken by the ignominy of her 
long imprisonment. Pavel continued on his way — no 
longer alone; the suppressed sound of whispering 
voices, of footsteps that were following him, fell 
upon his ear, filling him with unspeakable disgust. 
A crowd of curious observers were escorting him, 
anxious to witness the first meeting between mother 
and son. He did not look round, but went on, out- 
wardly calm, to meet his fate. 

His mother had turned, had seen him, and rap- 
ture, pride, and satisfied longing shone from her 
eyes ; but she remained standing where she was, 
with her arms hanging by her side; she did not 
speak to him. 

“ God greet you, mother,’' he said, hastily, in a 
constrained voice. “Why do you stay outside? 
Come in.” 

“ I did not know whether I might,” she replied, 
without taking her eyes off him, from which spoke 
a love, a blissful delight, which poured in upon him 
like warmth and light, “ \ did not think to find you 


338 The Child of the Parish. 


thus, my son,” her voice trembled with deepest, 
innermost joy, not as I do find you. I would not 
bring shame upon you, Pavel.” 

At this he took her hand : 

“ Come, mother, come, and once more : God greet 
you,” he said, led her into the house, and noticed 
that she involuntarily made a sign of the cross as 
she entered. “Sit down, mother,” he continued; 
“ 1 have much to tell you ; much that is sad.” 

She had seated herself, looked about the room in 
agitation and astonishment, and said : 

“ I know beforehand what you have to tell me ; 
that I cannot stay here. I do not feel sad, only 
happy, very happy that I have found you as you 
are, as 1 see you. dt would never have entered my 
head, my son, to be a burden to you ; and when you 
wrote: ^ I am building a house for you,’ 1 thought: 

‘ Build it, and may God bless every brick in 3 ^our 
walls. Build, build, but for yourself, not for me.’ ” 

“ Why did you think so ?” 

“ Because I have a judge in you, my son,” she 
replied, calmly, and without the shadow of a 
reproach ; and he asked, disconcerted : 

“ What do you mean? I do not understand you.” 

“ If I had not had a judge in you,” she continued, 
with the same equanimity, “ you would have looked 
after me sometimes. I know what it means that you 


TJie Mother s Rehirn. 


339 


have never done so, and tlierefore I only came here 
because 1 could not stand it any longer not to see 
you, and am going away again this very day.” 

“ Where? You can’t go back to the prison?” 

“ Not there, but to our hospital, where I am a 
nurse.” 

“ Indeed, mother ! Since when ?” 

“ Since a couple of months.” 

“ That must be hard, to act as nurse to those bad 
people.” 

“ Hard and easy ; the worst often become the best, 
if they need us. And hard or easy, what matters it? 
I have my home there ; I am content. Oh, dear Lord, 
more than content.” And again her radiant eyes 
rested on her son with unfathomable love. “ More 
than content, because I have seen you now, so 
strong, so good, so healthy. And my second child, 
whom they have given to God, whom I may not see 
— Milada ?” Pavel groaned. “ Is she a young nun, 
now?” 

“ No, mother.” 

“ No ?” She trembled at the agonized tone of his 
words. “No?” she murmured, with dry lips and 
failing breath, “ has she not been found worthy of 
that highest grace ?” 

“ Oh, mother,” cried Pavel, “what are you saying? 


340 


The Child of the Parish. 


Not worthy ? She was a saint — that is the sad news 
which I wanted to tell you at first — Milada is dead !” 

“ Dead !” Doubtingly, in a hard, slow voice she 
said it after him, and then suddenly cried : “ No, 
no, no !” 

“ She died three days ago, mother.” 

She sank back in her chair, crushed by the weight 
of a sorrow which was mightier than she. By 
degrees only life returned to her features, and their 
rigidity gave way to an expression of sorrowful 
enthusiasm. “ I believe you, my son, 1 believe you. 
She was a saint; and now she is in heaven, and there 
I shall find her, when it will please the Lord to sum- 
mon me.” 

“ Mother,” replied Pavel, hesitating, “ do you 
really hope to go to heaven ?” 

“ Do I hope it? 1 know I shall ! God is just!” 

“ Say merciful. Do you not mean merciful ?” 

His mother sat erect. “ I say just,” she repeated, 
with a sublime confidence before which all his 
doubts vanished, and which kindled in him a faith in 
this poor outlawed woman, firmer, truer, and more 
inspiring than ever, a faith in that which is highest 
and most glorious. He drew nearer to her, his lips 
parted ; she raised her hands in entreaty. “ Ask me 
no more, I cannot answer you. So long as the law 
exists that the wife shall be subject to her husband, 


The Mother's Return. 


341 


so long she must have no other judge on earth than 
that husband ; for he alone knov^rs w^hether she has 
taken part in his guilt or not. Do not judge me, 
my son !” 

“ No,” he assured her, no, and I will not ask. 1 
only entreat you to say it of your own accord. 
Have pity on me and say it.” 

A sad smile played around her lips. “ That I was 
innocently condemned ; is that what you want to 
hear from me ? It is the truth.” 

At this he broke out: You guiltless — and I — 
merciful God ! if that is so, how wickedly have I 
acted towards you !” 

Do not accuse yourself,” she replied, with her 
imperturbable calm, “you were so young when I 
had to leave you. You did not know me.” 

“ Mother,” he could only say. “ Mother,” and he 
fell on his knees before her, buried his face in her 
lap, embraced her. and felt that he now held in his 
arms his best treasure, that which was dearest and 
most precious to him on earth. “ Stay with me, 
dearest mother,” he cried. “ I will place my hands 
under your feet; I will make up to you for all you 
have suffered. Stay with me!” 

And she, her face transfigured, a heaven in her 
bosom, bent over him, pressed her thin cheeks to his 


342 


The Child of the Parish. 


hair, kissed his neck, his temples, his forehead, and 
said : 

“ I don’t know whether 1 ought/’ 

“ Because of the people?” 

“ Because of the people.” 

He looked up at her. “ What was it that you 
said awhile ago ? ‘ The worst often turn into the 
best, if they need us.’ Well, dear mother, it would 
be strange, indeed, if two people like you and me 
should not be needed sometimes. Stay with me, 
mother, dear.” 


THE END. 


LOVE IS LORD OF ALL; 

OR, 

NEIGHBORING STEPPES. 

/ 

21 Nootl. 


ADAPTED FROM THE GERMAN 

BY MARY J. SAFFORD, 

Translator of “ Wife and Woman f “ Little Heather-Blossom f 
True Daughter of Hartensteinf etc,, etc, 

WITB IU.VBTBATIONa BY F. A. CARTER. 

12mo. 850 Paffea. Handsomely Boimd in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


The second title of this story, ** Neighboring Steppes,” indi- 
cates the scene of the story, which is adjoining estates on the 
great plains of Poland. The heir of a ruined and dissipated 
nobleman falls in love with the daughter of a rich Jew who has 
bought one of the estates of the family. The beautiful character 
of the Jewess and the heroism of the young baron are in refresh- 
ing contrast to the narrow pride and contemptible conduct of 
those who endeavor to break off their intimacy. It is a surpass- 
ingly interesting sketch of foreign life made familiar by the action 
of human passions which are the same the world over. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, ' 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


WIFE AND WOMAN; 


OR, 

A TANGLED SKEIN. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 

L. Haidheim. 

By MARY J. SAFFORD. 

WlTJt ILLUSTRATIONS BT F. A, CARTES, 

12mo. Beautifully lUuBtrated. Handsomely Bound In doth. 
Price, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


** A thoroughly good society novel.” This is the verdict of a 
bright woman after reading this story. It belongs to the Marlitt 
school of society novels, and the author is a favored contributor 
to the best periodicals of Germany. It has a good plot, an 
abundance of incident, very well drawn characters and a good 
ending. There is no more delightful story for a summer holiday. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpsud, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER»S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York 


MORRIS JULIAN’S WIFE 


a Koiici. 


BY 

ELIZABETH OLMIS. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


12mo. 350pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. Paper 
Cover, 50 Cents. 


'‘‘Morris Julian’s Wife” is a novel of unusual merit. When 
published as a serial in the Ledger^ it was greatly liked. It is the 
story of a young wife who, imagining a lack of sympathy in her 
husband, leaves him. The story of her wanderings by sea and 
land in Norway, in Scotland and in Switzerland and her hus- 
band’s unwearied search for her and loyalty form one of the most 
original and engrossing narratives ever produced in the form of a 
novel. The character of Satia Julian is peculiar to our epoch, 
and one which will attract every student of our society and man- 
ners, and especially our bright and cultivated American women. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


THE CHAUTAUQUANS 


BY 

JOHN HABBERTON, 

A^UhoT of Helen's Babies f etc. 


WITS ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. BA VIS, 


12mo. 351 Pa^es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


All interested in the famous Chautauquan reading-circles will 
welcome this novel. All who have been to Chautauqua will rec- 
ognize the perfect truth of the descriptions. The novel is an 
encyclopedia of information about getting up a Chautauqua 
circle. It tells in an amusing way the effect of starting a move- 
ment in a country village, and the enthusiasm, which it arouses 
among young and old when once the organization gets into 
working order. Mr. Habberton is a veteran story-teller, and his 
new story is full of interest. There are in it many humorous and 
pathetic situations. The rich variety of characters in a typical 
American village affords the author a great opportunity for intro- 
ducing interesting portraits and sketches. Altogether the book 
is one of the most notable literary achievements which the Chau- 
tauqua movement has brought forth. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New Y^rk, 


TRUE DAUGHTER 

OF HARTENSTEIN. 

a No»(i. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 

BY MARY J. SAFFORD, 

Translator of Wife and Woman f Little Heather- Blossom f 
True Daughter of Hartensteinf etc,, etc, 

WITH ILLUSTRATION a BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


12mo. 860 Fag«s. Handsomely Botmd in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Miss Safiford’s translations from the German are invariably in 
teresting. All who have read “ Little Heather-Blossom ” will be 
delighted with this exquisite companion story. The heroine pos- 
sesses every charming attribute of rare womanhood, in whom 
love is always the predominating motive. The scenes and cir- 
cumstances are new and strange, and the course of the story 
passes from one interesting situation to another, so that the read- 
er’s interest is never relaxed. This novel takes us out of the 
groove of every-day life, and introduces us to scenes and charac- 
ters altogether fresh and original. The weird and prophetic 
gypsy character gives it a touch of mystery. It is altogether a 
most perfect and delightful story. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor, WiEhiAM AND Spruce Streets,, N ew York. 


THE HUNGARIAN GIRL 


« , 

I % Noocl. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 

MARIAM TENGER 


BY 

S. E. BOGGS, 

Translator of ‘‘ The Little Countess.'^ 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


121110. 350 pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Clotk. Price, $1.00* 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This is a stirring romance of the Hungarian revolution of 1848. 
It gives a picture of the society and manners of the period. The 
heroine is allied to a noble family who participated in the gallant 
struggle for independence of Kossuth and his compatriots. This 
is incidental. The interest of the story centers in the relations of 
the heroine to the other characters. These are highly interesting 
and dramatic, owing to her peculiar character and the circum- 
stances of the time. The illustrations by Warren B. Davis are 
exceedingly spirited and add much to the beauty of the volume. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A Fresh Translation from the German. 


DEAR ELSIE 

a Notti. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 

JOHANNES VAN DEWALL, 


BY 

MARY J. SAFFORD, 

Translator of Wife and Woman f Little Heather-Blossom f 

Love Is Lord of All f “ True Daughter of 
Hartensteinf etc,, etc,. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS AND WILSON 
DE MEZA. 

12mo. 336 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


All who have read Miss Safford’s delightful translations from 
the German will welcome “ Dear Elsie,” which is one of the 
sweetest and prettiest and most artistic novels from the German' 
that we have met with. The characters are quite out of the com- 
mon run, and glimpses are given of high life in Paris, of brilliant 
scenes under the Empire, and of the perils of a youthful heiress 
in the brilliant and corrupt society gathered from all parts of 
Europe by the lavish display of Louis Napoleon’s court at. the 
Tuileries. But in German novels, as in German life, honest love 
and simplicity and sincerity of character come out of the crucible 
only purified and strengthened. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNIlR’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A New Book by the Author of » The Beads of 
Tasmer.” 


MRS. BARR’S SHORT STORIES. 

“Femmetia’s Strange Experience” and 
Other Stories. 


BY 

AMELIA E. BARR, 

Author of The Beads of Tasmer f Love For An Hour Is 
Love Forever f *^A Sister to Esauf Jan Vedder^s 
Wifef Friend Olivia f A Bow of 
Orange Ribbon f etc., etc. 

12mo. 360 Fagres. With Portrait of the Author and Numerous 

Illustrations. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 

All admirers of Mrs. Barr’s novels will be glad to possess a col- 
lection of her short stories. No writer of the day has won an 
honorable place in the literary world by more thorough and ad- 
mirable work. For many years a contributor to the best period- 
icals, her shorter tales afforded the training by which she rose to 
higher flights in her more extended works. We read the 
short stories of a great writer with curiosity to see what strikes 
the eye and mind in moments of relaxation and at play. These 
short stories of Mrs. Barr are full of happy thoughts, situations, 
incidents, poetry and wisdom. They supply agreeable diver- 
sion for many a leisure moment. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


LITTLE HEATHER-BLOSSOM. 

(ERICA.) 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 


FRAU VON INGERSLEBEN, 


BY 

MARY J. SAFFORD. 

WITH ILLUSTBATIONS BY WARREN R. DAVIE* 


12mo. 470 Fagres. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This novel is one of the most interesting that has been pub- 
lished in this country, taken from the German. It has more 
variety of character and scenery than is usual in German novels. 
All admirers of Marlitt will find it a novel to their taste. Miss 
Safford, the translator, who was the first to discover the merit of 
Werner and Heimburg, is very partial to it. Among its salient 
points are a wreck, a runaway, life in a castle on the Rhine, with 
its terraces sloping to the river, balls, entertainments and exqui- 
site character sketches. The heroine is one of the loveliest 
creations of fiction. 

F or sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER'S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A NEW NOVEL 

By the Popular Author, Mrs» Amelia E. Barr. 

A Cheap Edition: Price, 50 Cents. 


THE BEADS OF TASMER. 

BY 

MRS. AMELIA E. BARR. 

WITH ILLU8TBATI0N8 BY WABSEN B. BAVI8. 


12mo. 395 Fafires. Handsomely Bound in English Cloth. Uniform 
with Hatter of Millions” and “The Forsaken Inn,” By 
Anna Katharine Green. Price, $1.25. Paper Covers 50 Cents. 


“ The Beads of Tasmer,” by Mrs. Amelia E. Barr, is a power- 
ful and interesting story of Scotch life. The singular and stren- 
uous ambition which a combination of ancient pride and modern 
greed inspires; the loveliness of the Scotch maidens, both High- 
landers and Lowlanders ; the deep religious nature of the people ; 
the intense manifestation of these characteristic traits by Scotch 
lovers of high and low degree ; the picturesque life of the coun- 
try, involving the strangest vicissitudes of fortune and the exhibi- 
tion of the most loving and loyal devotion, constitute a theme 
which is of the highest intrinsic interest, and which is developed 
by the accomplished authoress with consummate art and irresist- 
ible power. The Beads of Tasmer ” is certainly one of Mrs. 
Barr’s ‘very best works, and we shall be much mistaken if it does 
not take high rank among the most successful novels of the 
century. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A CHEAP EDITION. PRICE, 50 CENTS. 


A SON OF OLD HARRY 

a Xooti. 

y,Y 

ALBION W. TOURGEE, 

Author of Foot's Frrand," Bricks Without Straw," 
F'igs and Thistles," '•'‘Hot Plowshares," etc. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARRKN B. DAVIS. 

12mo. Handsomely Sound in Cloth. Price, $1.50. Paper Cover, 

60 Cents. 


SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ; 

Syracuse Herald. — “A story by Albion W. Tourgee is pretty 
sure to be interesting, and ‘ A Son of Old Harry’ is no exception 
to the rule. The title comes from certain family traits which de- 
veloped themselves in the hero, and which are charactered by a 
peculiar birth-mark in the shape of a red spur in the heel.” 

Hartford Courant. — “‘A Son of Old Harry,’ by Albion \V. 
Tourgee, is the infelicitous title of one of the most notable of re- 
cent novels. The hero, the son of old Harry Goodwin, a West- 
ern settler, joins the Union Army at the beginning of the War, 
and gains name and fame. The style is terse, clear and often 
eloquent, for the author preserves his enthusiasms, especially in 
scenes descriptive of the War and its tragic events.” 

Public Ledger, Phila. — “ No one can complain of lack of ex- 
citing interest in this novel. It is told with remarkable skill, and 
the plot is wrought out to its climax with a deepening sense of i; - 
terest. The book is fully illustrated by Warren B. Davis.” 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York, 


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